The Great Escapade
by themodernteen
Summary: Sam and Dean are ambushed by Viktor Henricksen and the FBI in a trap leaving them injured and cut off from help. Trapped in the hospital, Sam and Dean befriend an unlikely ally and call upon Bobby and Rufus. However, something dark is lurking in the shadows and it's up to the Winchesters to outsmart the FBI alone and injured without the tactics they have been accustomed to.
1. Chapter 1

**New story, hope you all enjoy!**

Dean had been driving for miles and miles across the states, the windows were constantly filled with bucolic sights and the rural backgrounds of the Midwest. He felt the fresh air on his skin as his arm rested against the open window frame and the wind blew past his speeding Impala.

Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ played softly on the radio and Sammy in the passenger seat was reclining back and sleeping. His tall, lanky body stretched across the whole damn car like he was a prince. His long brown hair fell over his face like a curtain and his arms were draped across his plaid flannel and puffy beige jacket.

"Sam?" Dean looked over, "Hey, Sammy."

No response. They could've driven past a marching band and he still wouldn't have woken up.

Dean turned on Freddie Mercury's voice a little higher (who was he kidding-he turned it a _lot_ higher) and the Impala speakers boomed with the high pitch screams of Queen's music.

Sam jumped awake and banged his head on the car's ceiling doing so.

"Ow! What the hell, Dean!?" Sam shouted.

He looked to his left and saw Dean laughing his head off and lowering the volume, "Come on, Sam, it's a classic!"

"Dean, you're so immature," Sam huffed and crossed his arms.

"Sam," Dean looked at him, he still had that crooked smile on his face.

"No," his brother looked to the passing road.

"Sammy?," Dean kept smiling.

Sam's eyes looked at his older brother and he smiled, "You're such an idiot."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

There was a pause for a moment as Sam turned his head to see his older brother with a stupid goofy look on his face.

He laughed, easing the tension out of his shoulders, "So, where we going?"

"New Mexico," Dean said casually, the leather steering wheel of Baby fitting under his hands like a glove.

"New Mexico?" Sam yawned, "Why?"

"Because we got a hot shot, Sammy," the older Winchester threw a few newspaper clippings on his younger brother's lap, "I don't know what it is yet, but the son of a bitch is definitely making himself cozy."

"Four deaths so far," Sam read the clippings, "one witness?"

"Yup," Dean smiled, looking ahead at the winding road through the American countryside.

"Where is she now?"

"Santa Fe Mental Institution."

"Figures," Sammy huffed, "when you tell the authorities that a demon possessed your friend at a murder scene, there isn't much you can do at that point."

"So we got to get to her," Dean started,

"Before our demon does," Sam finished.

Dean nodded, a crinkle in his eye as the smile slowly faded from his lips. He raised the volume of the music as a new song came on. The guitar solo ripped through the air like an electric screech.

"Hey, Dean," Sam's eyes brightened, "it's, uh, it's Free-free something…"

"Free _Bird_ , Sammy," Dean narrowed his eyes in mock anger and disappointment, "Lynrd Skynrd, how dare you?"

"Whatever, Dean," the younger Winchester rolled his eyes and laughed, "that song is as old as this Impala."

" _Never_ talk about Baby like that," Dean gasped then whispered lower, "it's okay, darling, he didn't mean it."

They kept flying through the countryside like a bullet as the speeding black car took the miles through the states to Santa Fe, New Mexico.

They arrived well after dark; the sleezy motel they pulled into a haven as Dean and Sam switched seats as the driver to stay awake.

"Damn, that was a long drive," Sam stretched as he took his long legs out of the car and opened their armored trunk.

"I know," Dean cracked his back, "better be worth it."

"Trust me," Sammy shut the trunk as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, "those four people that died wouldn't have in vain."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dean nodded as he fished the motel room keys from his pocket and fit it into the slot. They stepped inside, locked the doors, demon-proofed the room, and crashed into their beds to fall straight to sleep.

"I've got eyes on the targets," a man spoke into his receiver in his ear. His black gloved hands held binoculars as he stared through the glass window pane to the slumbering forms of the Winchester brothers sprawled in their beds, "do we move in?"

"Hold your team," the voice of his authoritative commanders on the other line rang in his ear, "we don't want to scare them off just yet."

"Understood, heading back to base," the man signed off, packed his binoculars away, and climbed off the roof of the neighboring building as silent as a cat.

The Winchester Boys wouldn't get away this time.

"Dean, wake up," Sammy threw his brother's shoe at him on the bed. Dean jumped awake, his disorientation making the room spin. He remembered they pulled into the motel late the night before in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

"Sammy? What time is it?"

"8 AM."

"8 AM?!" Dean flopped his head back on the pillow, "Jesus, Sam, give a guy a break."

"No, Dean, our demon could be getting closer and closer to our eyewitness at the mental hospital, we got to get there before it does."

"Ugh, fine," the older brother hoisted his sore body off the motel bed and sat up, scratching the back of his neck.

"I already got the scrubs from the back of the Impala, Bobby packed us a few new pairs just in case," Sammy held up a pair of white puffy scrubs that the nurses wore, "what do you think?"

"I don't think white's your color," Dean huffed as he walked closer to his brother, "but these look pretty legit."

"Yeah, Bobby really upped his game," Sam smiled.

"I'll go."

"What?" Sam's brows furrowed as he held the scrubs closer to his chest, "No!"

"Sammy, this isn't a game of dress-up, okay?"  
"I never said it was."

"Look, you are better at the research, I'm better at the in-the-moment kind of things. Hand me the scrubs, I'll go check out our witness."

"But, Dean, this requires gentleness and care-"

"What? I could be gentle!"

Sam fixed him with a glare, Dean rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, Sam, I've got it. You stay here, look into the crime scenes, head to the police station, gather evidence. We'll need it if we're going to get this thing."

"Fine," Sam begrudgingly handed over the white scrubs to Dean who went to the bathroom and started changing into them. Sam pulled out one of his many suits and looked through their little box of fake IDs, badges, and tags.

"Looks like I'm going as Robert Deer today," he smirked as Dean came out in his puffy, white outfit. Sam laughed.

"What?" Dean protested, "I happen to think I look very good in white!"

"Oh, yeah, you're so _angelic._ "

Dean blinked once, "Shut up."

"Alright, alright," he finished laughing, "I'm gonna change and head down to the station, call me after you talk to the witness."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean went to the bed and grabbed his leather jacket, shrugging it onto his white scrubs and jumping into his Impala before anyone could see his ridiculous outfit.

He pulled up to his destination with Baby parked perfectly into a spot. Dean took off his famous brown leather jacket, clipped his ID tag onto his pocket (courtesy of Bobby Singer) and walked inside. As he stepped through the doors, he kept his head low and walked swiftly passed a nurse's station, picking up a bare clipboard as he did so to add to his disguise. On his hand the name scribbled was June Baker, the name of their witness.

"Excuse me?" Dean took a deep breath and flashed his winning smile as he approached the young dainty woman at the front desk.

"Hello, sir," her eyes sparkled as the handsome man in front of her approached. He looked absolutely dashing in his white scrub outfit, a uniform that most male nurses were unable to look good in, "what can I do for you today?"

"There's lots of things I'd like to ask you," his eyes glimmered as he nonchalantly placed his arm on the desk, "but duty calls. I was wondering if a smart girl like yourself could tell me what room June Baker is in?"

"Of course," she batted her eyelashes and typed a few keys into the computer, "it looks like she's in room 221."

"221, thank you, darling," he winked.

"Before you go," she fixed her hair, "is there anything else you'd like to ask me?"

Dean was too focused on writing the room number on his paper, he completely forgot his act, "No, that's all, thanks."

He gave her a farewell smile, noting the disappointment on her face, and went off to the elevators.

"221, 221, 221," he said under his breath not to forget.

The door appeared before him as he made twisting turns and ups and downs between floors. The name plate read correctly: June Baker.

He knocked twice on the door, "Excuse me, Mrs. Baker, can I come in?"

There was no reply, but he opened it anyway.

Sitting in the dim light at the far corner of the room, was an older woman with cropped red hair, a hospital gown on, and she was saying something under her breath.

"Mrs. Baker? Hi, my name is Michael," Dean started as he approached her, her back was facing him as she looked vacantly out the window, "I was sent by your doctor to administer some medication, is that all right?"  
"Y-yes," her airy reply was good enough for Dean as he just pulled out a syringe of water from his pocket as "medication".

"Mrs. Baker, I was reading your chart," he began expertly, "and I'm sorry to hear about the unfortunate death of your family."

She didn't reply, her empty eyes still looked out the window at the gloomy sky below. Dean puffed out a breath but kept going as he neared her IV.

"It would be all right, Mrs. Baker, if you wanted to talk to someone about it," Dean cleared his throat, "our entire staff is professionally trained, I'm here whenever you need."

"M-Michael?"

"Yes, my name, Michael," Dean was plunging the water solution into her IV, it wouldn't harm her at all, just used for the disguise.

He suddenly jumped back as her hand flailed out and held a death grip on his forearm. He tried to pull free but to no avail, those scary eyes staring straight into his own like vacuums.

"I-It was horrible," she gasped, fear taking hold of her as her long nails began to dig into Dean's skin, "those eyes, those black eyes! Gerry, he was possessed, black smoke everywhere!"

"Yes, yes," Dean nodded, "the black smoke, what about the smoke? Did he say anything? A name?"  
"Gerry, he-he killed Teresa with his own hands! Teresa, my poor baby!"

"Teresa, Gerry, okay, good," Dean was trying to pry her claws out of his arm before she drew blood, "where was this?"

"At the shipyard," she cried, her chin quivering, "G-Gerry, he used to work there, we-we were just taking a walk along the docks!"

"Okay, the docks," he made a mental note to tell Sammy, that's where he'd check next, "okay, Mrs. Baker, it's alright, shhh," he tried to calm her down, getting all the information he needed. It was definitely a demon and these poor people were paying the price.

Dean-or Michael-backed out of the room as June Baker lay mumbling in her chair, continuing to stare out the window blankly.

The docks, the old shipyard. Dean walked out the mental institution, shedding his white scrubs the moment he got inside his Impala. He fitted himself into actual clothes, his boots, and leather jacket. Much better.

The engine revved like she was ready to take off into the day.

Dean picked up his phone and dialed the only number he called.

"Sammy," he spoke once his brother picked up on the other line.

"Dean? How's it going?"

"Jackpot," he smiled, "our witness, June Baker, was taking a nice family stroll with her husband and daughter by the docks at the old shipyard when they were attacked by a demon."

"But she just walked away?" his skeptical brother asked.

"I don't know, I guess," he shrugged.

"Doesn't that seem a little weird, Dean?" Sam's voice was doubtful, "I mean why leave her alive?"

"Demons do all kinds of crazy things, Sammy, you learn to live with it," the older brother answered.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sam conceded.

"Of course I am, now how is it going down at the station?"

"Not bad, I just talked with one of the officers at the scene of the crime, got a few names. I'm heading back to the motel to do some more research to figure out what we're dealing with."

"Good, let me know if you find anything," Dean concluded,

"Got it," his younger brother hung up the line and the call disconnected.

"Let's go, Baby," Dean petted the side of his Impala and pressed down hard on the gas. She went speeding down the road towards the docks.

The Chief Officer Henry Stanley at the Santa Fe Police Station waited will "Robert Deer" left his office before reaching for his phone and picking up the receiver. The man was very tall, with a thin but strong build, long brown hair, and blue green eyes. He got a photo faxed in this morning from a certain FBI chief agent named Victor Henrikson. They were scratchy images of two men named Sam and Dean Winchester. The long-haired one came in, but he had yet to see his smug-faced older brother.

There were specific instructions given to him when he talked to Henrikson earlier that morning that he _will not engage._ Stanley was confused and a little irritated by the black-suited FBI agent who thought he could boss him around but he had prompt orders that couldn't be ignored.

 _"_ _Why, sir?" he asked the agent, "Why can't we engage if he freely walks into our own precinct. There are dozens of highly trained officers in here, what is one man?"_

 _There was a slightly bemused chuckle from the other end of the line, "Look, Officer Stanley, this isn't a question of me underestimating the talent of your officers, but these two have escaped government hands not once-not twice-but three times. If 40 armed FBI agents couldn't trap these boys, what makes you think a dozen mid-west sheriffs could do."_

 _"_ _We have weapons, he won't be expecting it either," Stanley rebuked._

 _"_ _Look," Henrikson sighed, "I'm sure you do, but this has been an ongoing operation for almost a year now. Now I finally have the Winchesters right where I want them. It took a lot of money and favors in high places to get them here because these boys have been living on the run their whole lives, fending for themselves with fake IDs and twisted minds about demons and satan worship, Officer. Do you want these two dangerous criminals roaming the streets any longer? No, they are practiced. Sam and Dean have a routine, one I've been analyzing for months now. We follow the routine before they get suspicious, okay? This must seem like one of their own jobs before we move in."_

 _"_ _Okay, sir," the chief nodded, "I'll give you a call if this Sam comes in."_

 _"_ _Thank you, Officer Stanley, you'll be doing your country a service."_

He had seen this Sam Winchester with his own eyes, and he must admit that he was quite convincing. Stanley had seen countless criminals during his career, ones that impersonated certain personalities, but Sam had to take the cake. The way he carried himself in, a confident aura in his black pressed suit, like he had done this countless times. He had legitimate questions like he was interested, evidence, a badge, and a contact number just in case. This guy was prepared.

"Excuse me," Stanley cleared his throat, "Agent Henrikson?"  
"Officer Stanley," Viktor greeted with anticipation, "what have you got for me?"

"Sam Winchester," he uttered in his gruff voice, "but, sir, I don't know if it was him."

"What? What do you mean by that?"

"It's just..this guy was a professional, sir."

"Oh," came the knowing reply, "these boys are trained, Officer, they are cunning, tricky, and manipulative. The faster we get them the better, before they disappear again."

"Okay, what do you need me to do next, sir?"

"Wait there," came the hurried reply, "I'll be there in a few hours."

The call disconnected and Officer Stanley was left gazing at photo of the innocent looking Sam Winchester.

 **Don't own any Supernatural content or characters, hope you all enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean revved the Impala's engine and swerved into the gravel lot of the old shipyard. It was abandoned for the most part, except for the skeletons of colossal metal ship hulls left to rot in the mucky water. He looked at his watch, Sam would be here in a little bit and that gave him time to look around. Dean walked around to the trunk of the car and opened the secret compartment that held the weapons and ammo of the Winchester Brothers. He picked out a knife and a few more goodies, stuffing them discreetly in his leather jacket pockets.

Dean shut the trunk and looked around to make sure no one was near. It was clear. He began roaming the area, careful to not make loud footsteps in case any unwanted demons nearby decided to pop in for a visit. He was fully prepared with his multiple charms and weapons to take anything that came to him. The lot was mostly empty, there was no real danger present at the moment and from what he could see.

There was the yellow taped crime scene up ahead; he walked over to it. His boots crunched in the gravel and he leaned over the side, looking at the chalked body outlines scribbled into the ground. The crime scene should be cleaned up soon, the investigation being wrapped up as unsolved.

He heard a crunch in the distance.

Dean whipped his head around and kept a hand on the knife in his jacket, "Hello? Who's there?" he called out aggressively.

No reply.

"Hello-"

The crunching sound grew louder now, all at once a crescendo of noise like a dozen boots hitting the ground hard.

"What the?" he looked around, Dean's eyes caught movements in the shadows of the abandoned docks. They were humanoid shapes, but he wasn't going to be able to take them all at once. Dean jumped over the yellow crime tape and sprinted in the opposite direction towards his Impala.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to outrun these guys, demon, human, or whatever they were. This case that he and Sam decided to take one was obviously much more than it seemed and-Sam! His brother was supposed to meet him here and if he did, they'd both share the same fate.

Dean sprinted ahead and dove behind a few crates. This would give him some cover for a little before his pursuers could find him and do God knows what. But that would not be for his brother. He ripped the phone out of his pocket as the advancing footfalls grew nearer.

"Come on, come on," he cursed his fumbling fingers.

Dean flipped open the cover of his phone and pressed the digits down. He turned his head as he heard gruff voices behind him.

"Don't tell me we lost him!"

"Nah, he's around here somewhere. Keep looking!"

"Sam, come on, come on-"

"Hey, boss, I found him, I got him!"

Dean cursed as he felt the cold metal barrel of a heavy gun buried in his skull.

"Damn it," he hissed.

"You bet, guy," he heard the man above him speak, "drop the phone. Now."

He held onto it reluctantly for a moment before dropping it into the dirt. The dial screen looked at him mockingly and his heart skipped a beat at the prospect of not being able to warn Sam. It was like he could practically hear the voice of his dad scorning him for not fulfilling the duties he swore to long ago.

He had a chance to look up and examine his assailant. The man had on black heavy gear with dark glasses and a helmet. The only skin visible was the slim line of his neck as plastered on his bulletproof vest across his chest was the word "SWAT".

Damn it, they were humans.

That meant this was no demon case, this was no murder scene, this was an elaborate scheme. A trap to rope the brothers in with a promising case that was a fake created by the FBI…and he knew exactly who was behind it all.

"Good evening, officer," he looked at the man above him with a smug smile.

"Shut up," the growl uttered to him was harsh, "I got him here, Captain!"

"Good job, Nichols," he patted the man's back as four more SWAT members besieged him and pointed their fatal barrels at his vulnerable body, "Dean Winchester?"

"Uh," he looked round at the possible bullets that might pierce his skin, "yeah?"

"You're coming with me," the captain nodded to one of his men, "you know what to do, Jenkins."

"Right, sir," a man from behind wielded his gun, his hand held on the trigger.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he tried scrambling back, but the barrels pressed harder into his skin, "Hey, what's going on here?!"

"Now, Jenkins!"

"Wait, can't we talk about this-"

Dean felt something hit him in the back of the head hard and he fell to the ground.

Sam stopped the cabbie a block away from the docks just in case. He was dressed back in his beige corduroy jacket and regular outfit; it was a lot more comforting than that suit he always hauled around. His shotgun was tucked away in his pocket over his flannel shirt. Dean was supposed to meet him here and they were going to check the area for any remaining spirits lingering around before they did the usual routine.

First things first, he needed to find his brother.

"Dean?" Sam looked around cautiously, his hand on the handle of his weapon, "You here?"

There was no sound, just the sound of crunching gravel. Sam was already on high alert and he hid behind one of the wooden support beams for the dock. There was no following sounds and the air was tense and cold.

Something was happening here and Dean might've gotten caught right in the middle of it. He needed to find his brother, salt and burn this thing, and get the hell out of New Mexico.

Sam took a quick look out towards the dock again; nothing was there. If this spirit was trying to taunt him, it was going to have a hell of a tough job. Dean and him were expert hunters, brought into the life when they were born. He kept his shotgun close and stepped out again, prepared to take on whatever came at him.

"Sam," a voice called in the dead silence.

He froze.

And he dove to the ground, crawling to the safety behind the post.

"I've almost got him," an FBI sharpshooter was high above the docks on a nearby building. Through the scope of his gun, he only saw the beige sleeve of the target poking out from behind the wooden post, "Boss, do I have a go on taking the shot?"

"Just wait, I want to talk to him first."

"But, sir-"

"You have your orders, listen to them," came the growl in his earpiece.

The sharpshooter ground his teeth. He wanted these two out of the way before they terrorized any more American lives. If he had it his way, these two would've been dead already instead of taken into custody. He tightened his grip on the gun and ground his teeth in restless anticipation.

"Sam" came the voice again, it was eerily familiar to his ears, "Sam Winchester."

He finally placed the name to the face: Viktor Henricksen. It was the FBI agent who had been on his and Dean's tails for months now. He was at the bank vault robbery before and had been trailing them down ever since-especially since Dean was a suspect for murder.

"Henricksen!" he shouted back angrily.

"So you remember me, Sammy?" came the amused reply, "just come out so we can talk."

"And then what? You and your squadron of soldiers will take me and my brother out?" Sam said defiantly, "No way."

"Listen, I know I've been hunting you and your brother all over the goddamn country, I mean aren't you tired? Hell, I'm tired. So why don't you come out, let's talk, Dean won't be there to give his smart replies, and-"

"Don't talk about my brother," Sam growled, "where is he?"

"Dean? Oh, he's right here, come on I'll show you."

Sam almost took the bait. If it involved Dean then of course he would, his brother might be in danger. Worry clawed at him. What if Dean really was there? What if gun was pressed to his head and the minute he stepped out then they'd pull the trigger.

"No, you're lying," Sam concluded, "you think you can get me out, huh? I bet you've got men lining this whole dock at this point to shoot me down and me and my brother will be dust in the wind, right? Not a chance."

"Sam?"

The younger Winchester froze. His entire body was filled with dread. It was a frighteningly familiar wasn't Henricksen talking-it was Dean. He sounded tired and hurt, something was definitely wrong.

"Dean?"

"Sammy, you stay right there and run. Don't you let them take you."

"Dean, I'm not going to leave-"

"Sam, you turn around right now and go! Before this bastard gets the both of us."

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam was torn, he was never going to leave his own brother in the hands of people worse than demons, "What's wrong? You don't sound good."

"They got me, Sammy, what can I say?" Dean tried to puff out a laugh, "It's my job to look out for you, you have to go now. I'll find a way out."

"All right, that's enough," Henricksen interceded, "don't listen to him, Sam, you'd never leave Dean behind."  
"Henricksen is trying to pull you in, Sammy, you need to go now!"

"Sam, you come out here, all I want to do is talk to you, okay? Nothing is set yet, I can still make this all go away, I've got the power to do that."

"What about my brother?" Sam returned, "You can make it all go away for him too?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Viktor's tone dropped, "but your brother is a convict on suspicion of murder and so many other crimes that you weren't involved in. I can tell the judge that you were persuaded by your brother, that your dangerously co-dependent relationship made you believe that there were demons and ghosts running around."

"Sam, if you come out here, so help me-"

Sam threw his shotgun on the dirt floor by Henricksen's feet. Dean watched from the hands of two SWAT officers holding him down, it was his brother's preferred weapon. Another officer came by and snatched it from the ground before running back. Viktor had a smug smile on his face.

"That's it, Sam, you're making the right decision."

"Damn it, Sammy, no-"

"Henricksen," Sam called, "if I come out there, will you let me see him?"

"Who? Dean? Sure, Sam, why not," Viktor smiled, ready to reel his fish in.

"Sam, please, don't do this, they're going to shoot you if you do," Dean tried to plead with his brother one more time, "don't come out here, turn tail and run!"

"Okay," Sam breathed, "I'm coming out."

From the top of his perch, the sharpshooter smiled, ready to receive the order. His partner next to him was getting anxious, not about the target, but about him. His partner could tell that he was ready to kill these Winchester Boys, and he was afraid that he would kill them both against orders.

"Hey, just take it easy, Brian," Mike, his partner looked at him, "you don't have any orders yet."

"I know," he smiled sadistically, "just waiting."

Mike had a grim look on his face but continued to watch the exchange.

"That's it, Sam, come on out," Viktor saw the bare palm of Sam and then half of his broad form come out from behind the post. Both his hands were in the air and his eyes immediately zeroed in on Dean. His brother had a black eye and a small bleeding cut in his skull, but his face was horrified as he saw what Sam was doing. It was a look of betrayal.

"Keep your hands in the air!" an officer with the voice of a drill sergeant yelled from Henricksen's side. There were two SWAT vans, about 15 ground soldiers, two of which were holding Dean down, and probably more up above with their guns trained on him.

They weren't going to shoot him, they couldn't. If they killed Sam unarmed then they'd be in hot water. This was America, people had to deal with situations with reason.

"Dean-" Sam's eyes focused on his brother who was resisting the bonds of the two men holding him down.

"Sammy, why didn't you run!" Dean angrily shouted at his brother who was slowly walking over to them, his hands above him in surrender.

"Dean, I-"

There was movement from Henricksen, and Dean watched as he pressed a hand to his ear. He was talking through an ear piece, "No, Brian step down, that is not your order-"

Dean already knew what this meant in a second. They were in danger.

"Sam, get down!" the older Winchester shouted.

His brother made eye contact with him.

There was a flash from the top of the dock. The booming sound of a gunshot echoed through the abandoned shipyard and a spurt of blood from Sam's leg. Sam yelled and he hit the floor, cringing in the dirt as he tried to scramble away.

"Sam!" Dean yelled.

Henricksen's eyes were wide with confusion and dismay, "STOP!"

Another gunshot and this time it was targeted closer to Dean. He tried to break away from the clutches of the two officers who were still in a confused commotion. Dean tried to run to Sam but was hauled back and buried to the ground by the officers. Enraged, he kicked out and hit one of them in the face.

You could add resisting arrest and assault of an officer on his list of crimes.

"Sam, get out of here!" he yelled again as his brother tried to claw his way through the rocky dirt for shelter. Henricksen was shielded by two more officers and taken away to the shelter of the SWAT van. Other officers were clamoring all over the place trying to climb up the docks and stop the shooter. There were series of shots just blasting from the barrel and inching ever so closer to Dean.

One of them met its target. A bullet ripped through his shoulder and an excruciating pain engulfed him. He was blasted back and finally taken out of the hold of the two men as he writhed on the floor. He looked for his brother. Sam wasn't able to move anymore on account of the bullet in his leg so he was curled up on the floor, both arms over his head in a final act of protection.

"What's going on up there, Crow's Nest?!" Dean heard the urgent voices of the officers, "Who's opening fire?!"

"It's Brian!" came the crackled reply, "He's opened fire against orders, I can't get him to stop! He's targeted the Winchesters!"

"Brian, cease fire, Brian cease fire!"

There was one lone shot that rang through the abandoned docks and the firing stopped. From up above, a body fell over the ledge, dressed in a SWAT officer's uniform.

Dean felt woozy, his vision starting to blur as the wound in his arm and the one blow to his head made him feel faint. Rough hands grabbed him and hoisted him up; he ground his teeth when someone brushed past his injured shoulder.

"Sam?" he uttered, looking with blurry vision from officer to officer, "Where's Sam?"

He was dragged to the back entrance of the van, his feet sliding in the rocky gravel.

"Watch his shoulder," he decided to just let whatever was going to happen, happen. All he cared about was where Sam was and if he was okay. Damn Henricksen and his stupid bloodhounds of SWAT officers messed everything up.

Dean's head was pounding and bleeding again from his wound. _Bastards_.

He was pulled into the van forcefully and thrown against the metal interior roughly. His foggy mind barely registered the cuffs being slapped on his wrists. The pain that was sprouting from his shoulder was clogging his mind and making black dots dance across his vision. He'd be out soon if the excruciating pain continued on.

"Sam," he stopped one of the officers right in front of him, "where is he?" his tone was serious and his voice low.

"The other one?" the SWAT officer looked at him and snorted, "Down there," he nodded his head towards the floor outside the van, "he'll be taking the ambulance back home."

"W-what?" Dean's eyes were closing, but he snapped them back open, "Ambulance?"

In his fog, Dean tried to stand up and go outside to his brother, but the officer pushed him back down.

"Whoa, whoa, where do you think you're going?" he had an edge to his voice and his other hand rested upon the hilt of his gun, "Sit back down."

"Leave him, Josh" another officer came up to them both as Dean still struggled against his cuffs, "Jenkins hit him hard in the head, he doesn't know what he's doing."

Dean's blurry vision caught the name inscribed in his uniform: Mike. From what he remembered, that's the guy who was up there with Brian that damned shooter. He was the one who saved them. His eyes were downcast and shirt stained with blood. This guy must've shot his partner to get him to stop. There was a body bag being wheeled away into another car with men surrounding it and some in tears. That was him, Brian the shooter who propelled off the cliff once Mike here shot him.  
"Whoa, Mike," Josh turned to his fellow officer covered in the blood of one of their men, "what the hell? What happened? Brian was up there and someone opened fire-"

"Yeah, that was Brian too," Mike dry washed his face, "I didn't know what else to do. He would've killed somebody. I tackled him down, b-but he was gonna shoot me so I-" he trailed off, unable to continue, "Look, it was the right move, okay? I don't care what anyone thinks, he'd have shot these boys dead if I let him go on."

"One of them was already hit," Josh nodded his head to where he described Sam was.

"What?"

"Sam," Dean lurched forward again as a bout of clarity hit him. His brother could be dead and he was in here.

"Sit back down, pal," the Josh yelled a little and pushed him back by the shoulder.

"Hey, man," Mike said, warily, "I don't think he looks too good."

"Well, how hard did Jenkins hit him then?" Josh said impatiently.

"I don't know. Wait-" Mike moved closer, "look at his shoulder. Ah, damn it, Brian shot him."

Dean's eyes closed, his legs buckled, and he fell against the metal chair.

"Oh, Christ!" Josh moved forward to catch Dean, "Damn it, someone get me a medic here!"

There was a commotion of sounds that hit Dean's ears as he started to fade out and he barely felt the cool air as he was hauled out and rested on the floor.

"He's got low BP."

"Someone keep a crash cart on standby."

"Sam?" he tried to get up one more time, "Where-"

On the floor right beside him he saw a blood stained beige jacket.

 _No, no, God, no._

"Sam?" he was trying to convince his rattled mind that this wasn't his brother before him. He reached out and barely choked, "Sammy?"

"Keep him down, damn it!"

His brother was lying right beside him, his blue jeans soaked with blood that seeped into his signature jacket.

"What the hell did you do to him?!" Dean shouted and fought. His breaths were coming out as labored puffs and his headache was threatening to reel him over.

"Oh, crap, he's crashing."

Dean fell back down again as his lung felt like it was constricting, not enough air to stimulate his body. His whole chest burned like fire, Dean was half convinced that smoke might start pouring out of him on account of the acid feeling eating at his lungs.

"Lung collapse, come on, where's that needle!"

His head hit the floor, a long needle flashed across his blurry vision, there was a stab in his heart, and his world went black.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Love the feedback, and the story continues! Enjoy!**

Dean felt some sounds slowly filter back into his clouded mind. He felt something soft under his fingers and a crack of light peak through his eyelids. His head was resting against a cushioned fabric and his entire body ached with a rough soreness.

He shielded the light from his eyes with his hand and his vision focused a little more. There was a pillow under his head, a mattress under his body, a blanket over his legs, and handcuffs attached to his wrists.

He was in a hospital, that was for sure. A gown was fitted over him and the cuffs were attached to the plastic bar of the hospital bed. His heart monitor beeped above him softly and an IV was connected to his arm.

Where was Sam? His thoughts immediately traveled to the situation at hand. That bastard Henricksen just got them shot in his brilliant plan to trap the brothers and now they were the ones who took the fall for it. If that shooter Brian wasn't shot already, Dean would've killed him-wounded shoulder or not.

An officer poked his head in the room and looked at Dean who was awake.

"Hey," he gestured to his co-cop, "guy's awake."

"Call in Agent Henricksen, he wants to see him."

"Henricksen?" Dean heard the name, "Tell that bastard to get here in the next two minutes or I'll rip out of these handcuffs and find him myself," he growled.

"Okay, buddy, sure," one of the officers snorted and held up his walkie talkie, but the other tightened his grip on the hilt of his baton.

"Sir, the prisoner is awake."

A crackled voice came out the receiver of the officer's device, "On my way."

"The prisoner has a name, you know," Dean gave him a deep glare.

"We know, Dean Winchester, you've been on the coms a lot," the officer held up his walkie talkie, "SWAT can't get enough of you."

"We aren't supposed to be talking to him," the other nudged his partner and both turned away.

How was he going to get out of here? Dean tried to formulate some sort of plan. He could call Bobby and he'd sort it out. But Bobby wasn't going to get Dean and Sam snuck out of a hospital filled with FBI and SWAT after he was being blamed for killing one of their team mates, Brian. That guy deserved it, he was the one who lit up the place like a birthday cake.

A figure entered the doorway. It was Viktor Henricksen with two agents at his side.

"3 to 1? A little unfair, you think?" Dean scoffed as he looked at the two guys who looked like they belonged to the Matrix.

"Leave us," Henricksen turned to his two lackeys who obeyed and walked out.

There was a moment of silence. Both the men eyed one another, scoping out their sworn enemy just standing a foot away. Except, Dean was sitting up in a hospital bed, covered with white sheets, in a pale blue gown, and handcuffed to the bed. However, his eyes meant business and his expression far from smug.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Henricksen started to walk, his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face, "I've finally caught you," he laughed, "what did I say all of those months ago? I warned you, Dean, I did."

"Where's my brother?" Dean's voice was low and threatening.  
"You don't get the right to know anymore."

"Damn it, you're the one who got him shot!" Dean growled and pulled against the cuffs. His shoulder flared with pain but he ignored it.

Henricksen's face darkened, "I didn't know it would pan out like that."

"What? That your precious little SWAT dogs wouldn't go all Al Pacino on us?!"

"Don't you go making accusations now, Dean, you're in enough hot water already. Who do you think a federal judge will believe when it comes to trial, huh? You?"

"I just want to see Sam, where is he?" he was getting pissed off now. If he didn't get a word on his younger brother in the next half minute, then there would be _severe_ consequences.

"Fine," Viktor narrowed his eyes, "I'll tell you. But make note that I am not obligated to give you this information, and it was just out of the pure kindness of my heart, understand?"

Dean was ready to smack him.

"Fine, great, you're too kind, now where is he?"  
Henricksen pulled out a medical chart from the briefcase he walked in with.

"Ahem," the agent cleared his throat, "Sam Winchester currently in ICU under critical condition."  
"Critical condition?" Dean's voice wavered, "B-but I saw him, he just got hit in the leg."

"The bullet hit him in the upper thigh," Viktor read off the chart in a monotone voice, "nicked the femoral artery."

"What does that mean?"

"I think I've read too much-"

"What does it mean, damn it!?" Dean growled.

Viktor was taken aback, but he conceded, "Well, that's a major vessel in the cardiovascular system. If blood was leaking from the femoral then not enough blood was getting to his other organs."

"Oh, God, Sam," Dean sat back, his face white, "how could I let this happen?" his voice was filled with resentment and guilt.

Henricksen just stood there, like a statue.

"When can I see him?" Dean looked back up again, his voice strained.

"You can't," the agent kept a stony face, "from this point on, you are property of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. You won't have any special privileges and will be tried in a court of law, and transferred to a federal prison where you will live out your days of your sentence. Alone. I'm pitching for solitary confinement the duration of your stay."

"But family visitation, right? I mean, this is still a hospital, I'm not in court yet. I can see him, just wheel me down there with a few of your guys, I don't care-"

"No, Dean," Henricksen said resolutely, "you will only be here for one more day, if that. Your wound is stitched up and doesn't require immediate attention. If I were you, I would recommend finding a lawyer rather than wasting your energy on reasoning with powers that can't be changed."  
"But, Henricksen-"

"That's all, Dean. I'd be a little more appreciative , because my face will the only one you'll be seeing for a little longer until your COs decide what to do with you. Soak this in, Mr. Winchester. A warm bed, clean sheets, pretty girls fixing you up. Remember that prison isn't a nice place, so better rest up that shoulder."

"You, son of a bitch," Dean sat forward and winced, "I will get out of here, me and my brother."

"In a few weeks, you'll be transferred and I give it a few months staring at blank prison walls before you forget even what little Sammy looks like," Henricksen said bluntly.

Dean sat back down, defeated. His mind was racing and his heart felt like it was beating at a million miles a minute. A cold feeling of dread prickled up his spine as this new reality greeted him. He could never see Sam, never see Bobby, never hunt another demon. Hell, he thought if he was going to go down at least it would be by some freaking Wendigo or an angry spirit, but not like this.

"Say, goodbye, Dean," Henricksen headed to the door, "you won't be free for much longer."

Dean always had a plan. When he and his brother were fighting monsters in the field, you couldn't afford not to have one. Things didn't always go as planned, and you needed a safe escape route. For the Winchesters, it was Bobby Singer. He manned the phones, provided the knowledge/lore, and he was a father figure to the parentless boys. Dean charmed one of the young nurses to give him their phones were it wouldn't be tracked down to him directly.

The pink bedazzled phone under his ear and between his shoulder rang three times loudly. The nurse stood next to him, waiting. He gave her a quick smile and prayed to have Bobby answer the damn phone.

A rough, stern, and grating voice answered the line, "How do you have this number."

"Bobby," Dean's relief was spilling into his voice, "Thank, God."

"Dean? What's going on, this ain't your number."

"I know, Bobby, me and Sam are in a little situation right now," he lowered his voice, "I need your help."

"What happened, Dean? Is Sam okay?"

"I don't know, Bobby," his tone was hopeless, "I haven't seen him."

"What do you mean you haven't seen him?"

"I mean the FBI is about to take me to prison, Bobby!" Dean's temper flared.

"Ah, damn it, you got Henricksen on your tail again?" he sighed over the line.

"Yeah, and he got us. Ambush. Look, me and Sam were hit, it didn't look too bad but Sam's in a bad way," the older brother shook his head, "I don't have time, I'm stuck here, I don't know what to do."

"Well, damn," Bobby shook his head, worry clawing at him, "you boys run into all sorts of trouble with the dead, the dying, and the demons, but the minute a _human_ catches you, you're in all sorts of knots. Alright, where are you?"

"Santa Fe, New Mexico."

"I'll be there. Hang on, boy."

The line went dead.

Dean just prayed that he'd get here in time.

Bobby heard the heartbreak in Dean's voice when he called. That boy never showed a drop of anything when Bobby confronted him, but right now he needed him. He knew how much the two brothers loved each other and would go through hell to save one another (which had happened multiple times). So, if Dean couldn't see Sammy before he was hauled off to super max, he was sure Dean would fight every correction officer like he was a demon raised from hell. Plus, he had heard Sam was hurt bad. That poor boy always got hit with the worst, yet he had the kindest and purest soul he'd met. Sam even got out of hunting when he was younger, defied the family tradition, and almost started a life for himself. But, he was pulled back in the game. It made him stronger, mended family fissures, but it also tainted some of that white light in Sam's heart. The poor kid was chased after demons since he was a baby in his crib. Sam couldn't escape the life, no matter how hard he tried.

He gathered up his things, his van like an armored car sending ammo to troops in war. He padlocked the gates to his auto shop, demon proofed the house one more time, and off he was. Santa Fe wasn't near Sioux Falls, it would take a little bit of a road trip and the boys didn't have much time. He needed to haul ass through the country side like no tomorrow.

"I'm coming, boys, just you hang on," Bobby started the engine and sped off out of town.

Mike was in the men's bathroom in the hospital. His tears mingled with the water he splashed in his face. His eyes were red and guilt racked his body. He killed his partner, Brian. Why hadn't he shot him in the leg? In the arm? Something he could recover from? No. Mike was a sharpshooter, and when one shot-they killed. He would be getting heat from his entire team and sergeants for protecting two criminals over his own brother in combat. This tainted his entire career. All those years in the army, the training to be a Ranger, his acceptance into SWAT? All ruined. There was nothing now accept the file of his dead partner a constant stain on his life.

He kept trying to convince himself that what he did was right, he saved the lives of two men. But the lives of two criminals over one seasoned veteran protecting his country? These two boys, though, the way they talked to each other and begged one another to separate so they wouldn't get hurt. That wasn't the behavior of regular criminals, that was true brotherly love. It was uncommon these days, usually it was a ditch and run sort of deal, but these boys wouldn't leave each other. He admired that, it showed courage and respect.

What was he doing? Sympathizing with criminals? No, those men were dangers to the innocent people of America and now they were caught. At the expense of Brian's life.

"Hey, Mike, you in there?"

He straightened up as he heard a voice of an officer.

"Yeah," he called.

"Come out, captain wants to see you."

He sighed and gave one last look over himself. It was time to make it or break it.

Mike opened the door and stepped out to meet up with his captain. His face looked haggard and rough, another man lost under his command.

"You okay?" the captain's grating voice screamed resentment.

"Not really."  
"Yeah," his captain's icy blue eyes glared him down, "Well, you shot a good man today."

His voice was like the edge of a dagger, almost ready to cut.

Mike stayed silent.

"Your brother in arms." his captain growled at him again.  
Continued silence.

Mike felt an iron grip wrap around his hand, the nails digging in. He looked up in alarm instinctually.

"How could you defend those criminals today, Mike, how could you turn on Brian?"

"Sir," Mike took a step back, his expression guarded, "Brian was a brother to me, but he had to be stopped. It'll eat at me for the rest of my life, sir, you can count on that. Fire me, let me go, I don't care, but I saved lives today. And if I had to do it again, unfortunately, I would have to."

The captain's frosty glare studied Mike intensely for a few seconds. It was like shards of ice were sprouting at him, threatening to impale Mike any moment.

"You were the team's head, Mike, you kept the boys level. Now look at you, a killer for a few low-lifes," the captain spat his venom like a snake, "I have to send in a review to command, and they'll definitely be hearing my report."

Mike looked to the floor, "Do what you have to do."

The captain released him and stormed off, his temper exploding as he stalked out of the corridor and down to a sign that read "morgue."

Mike looked around to make sure he was alone and slammed his fists against the wall. He was furious and guilty and his entire brain was on fire. He wanted to feel better about himself, convince himself that he saved lives by doing what he did-even if they were criminals. That was what he would do. He'd go see them, these Winchester boys, reassure himself that his decision wasn't all bad.

The SWAT officer pulled himself together before heading to the elevator again. A nurse informed him that one of them was on the recovery floor, the other in the ICU. The ICU was closest to him, so he walked there. His thoughts flew at a million miles per hour, but he tried to push them down. If he let them out, this raw guilt biting at his stomach would never alleviate.

The room was just down the hall, Mike walked over, hands in pockets. There was no one in the room, a relief. The two officers that were supposed to be guarding the door were nowhere to be seen. Understandable, they'd take a break, it's not like a man in the ICU had the physical capability to move freely out of the hospital. Mike poked his head in, the room was dark.

Lying in the bed was a tall man with long brown hair. When he said tall, the guy was _tall._ Well over 6 feet, Sam Winchester was motionless in the bed, eyes closed. His features were angular and sharp, but not malicious. His muscled arms rested on his chest and his entire leg was bandaged up in thick gauze. The heart monitor beeped and Mike sighed, settling himself down in the seat.

He didn't know this man at all. This strange Sam Winchester before him was only alive because Mike had stopped Brian from killing him. It made him feel a little bit better as he remembered the guy crumpling to the floor when his leg was shot. Apparently the bullet nicked a main artery and was compromising the blood flow to the organs. However, Brian's body falling limp to the floor replayed in his mind like a broken record.

This man was not only a stranger, but a criminal. Yet, Mike had saved him. Something about the looks of this Sam didn't scream "danger!" He looked like a regular guy, a nice one. Those handcuffs seemed to fit awkwardly around his wrist. Even in his medicated slumber he could tell that much about him. Maybe in another life, in another world, Sam and Mike would've been friends.

Time to see the other brother.

Mike got up, gave the unconscious Sam one more look, then headed out the door. He took the elevator to the 3rd floor and stepped out fluidly. He walked, head bowed, through the hospital hallways, the latex smell stinging his nostrils. Mike reached the room with the name "Dean Winchester" written on the tag. Also noticeable because of the two security officers guarding the door.

"I need to see him," Mike looked at the two officers scrutinizing him.

He could tell these two guys were sick of guarding the door and just waiting for their lunch break. He flashed an authoritative glare at the two guards along with his SWAT badge. His camoflauge green suit looking sharp, they nodded and moved to the side.

Mike entered, dipping his head as he passed. Inside was the older Winchester brother. The room was much lighter, less grim, and Dean was stretched out across the bed as well. His hair was closer cropped to his head, his eyes closed, but in a sitting position. Mike sighed and sat down in the chair on the far side of the room. There was a thick gauze wrapped around Dean Winchester's shoulder and his eyes had purple rings around them, but other than that he looked healthy. He was getting shipped off to supermax prison in the morning. Mike noticed a bag filled with his belongings. He walked over, opened the seal, and rummaged through. There was a thick, weathered, brown leather jacket with some clothes, a wallet, and a pair of keys. Inside the wallet there were 5 different IDs from different states and different names. Dean's photo was plastered on every one, but some were FBI cards, CIA cards, FDA cards, and more. The names also closely resembled those of Led Zeppelin band names….

"You find what you're looking for?"

Mike dropped the wallet back in the bag and turned around. Dean Winchester was awake, his green eyes flashed as he noticed the SWAT officer rummaging through his belongings.

"Just poking around," he answered casually, not wanting to start a scene.

"Yeah, well, you about done there?" Dean nodded for Mike to seal back the bag.

"Yes, sorry," he zipped it shut and tossed it back on the couch.

Mike was ready to head out, he didn't expect the guy to wake up. His brother was in worse condition and on heavy medication, maybe that's why he stayed asleep. As he took brisk steps forward, the man in the bed stopped him short.

"Hey, you're the guy," Dean's eyes narrowed, as Mike turned towards him, "the one that shot Tony Montana up on the docks."

Mike felt a flare of temper in him, but he dismissed the comment, "Yeah, that was me. Saved you and your brother's asses. You can thank me later," he turned to walk out again.

"My brother?" Immediately, Dean perked up, "Where is he? Is he okay? Have you seen him?"  
The officer studied the injured man for a moment. He really cared about his brother, this wasn't a hoax. Usually these criminals ditched their guys as fast as possible to save their own hides, but this connection was different.

"Yeah," Mike bowed his head, "I saw him."

"What?" Dean's worry was evident in his tone, "What is it? Is he-you know-?"

"No, he's not dead," he shook his head and saw the relief flood into Dean's stiff form, "shot up pretty bad though."

"Yeah, no thanks to your team," he snapped bitterly back.

 _Feisty one._

"Hey, I stopped Brian, you should be thanking me," Mike took an advancing step forward then tossed a look at the guards who weren't paying attention at the door, "I betrayed my team, lost their trust. I'll never sleep the same at night, I'll never be able to take back the screams of Brian as I shot him right in the head," his anger was burning up and he came neck to neck with the man in the hospital bed. He could see Dean's grip in the hand cuff tighten, ready to battle off Mike if he had to, "So you tell me who you should really blame, Dean Winchester, because right now I'm the guy who bargained with your life."

"Back off, buddy," Dean's tone hardened, "I'll drop you if I have to, all I want is my brother."

"Impossible," Mike scoffed and turned away, "you're heading to No Man's Land tomorrow, Mr. Winchester, there's nothing that can be done about that."

"Impossible?" Dean huffed, "Please, I've faced worse odds."

"What?" Mike looked confused, "What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea what me and my brother have been through, Mikey," he read the stitching in the officer's uniform, "something you SWAT dogs can't wrap your puny minds around. Me and Sam, we've done more for this country-hell, this world-than you and your entire team can do in a lifetime."

"Don't disrespect an officer," Mike warned, "this uniform has preserved and protected this good country along with all of my brothers and sisters in the field."

"Whatever you say, G.I. Joe, but thanks anyway for what you did. I owe you one," Dean shook his head. A sad look sparked in his eyes and the room suddenly felt colder.

Mike gave a curt nod, amused by the fact a criminal would "owe him one." Maybe these guys were better off dead, then Brian would still be alive….

"Hey, look, I know it's not the best time to ask, but can you do me a favor?" Dean stopped the SWAT officer short.

" _Me_?" Mike scoffed and turned on his heel. _The nerve of this guy!_ "Do _you_ a favor? Don't you think I've done quite enough?" his response was sour and edgy.  
"One more thing, sir, please," he could detect the sincerity in the guy's voice, "I just want to see Sam, just take me to him and I'll do whatever your army guys tell me to, I swear."  
"No can do, Mr. Winchester," Mike shook his head, "you're a criminal of the United States, you should've changed your choices long ago."

"Oh, don't give me any more of Henricksen's crap, Mike, I've had a load of that this morning," Dean took a deep breath and started again, "I will, without resistance, comply to any of your needs whether that be dragging me to prison for the rest of my life or anything else, just let me see my brother one last time. Please."

Mike turned the thought over in his head. He did feel a sense of attachment to Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester, he saved their lives for God's sake. Now, he was asking for one more favor…

"Please, Mike," Dean looked down, "give one more thing to a dead man."

He didn't answer.

Mike walked to the door and could feel the desperation and resentment radiating off of Dean as he rejected his plea. He stopped short at the door.

"I'll think about it," he said with his back turned and walked out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's chapter 4! Enjoy, leave me some reviews/favs/follows ;)**

That glimmer of hope was the only thing Dean needed to get him going again. Bobby was on the way and he might have a man on the inside. If he could just get out without these goddamn guards in the way-

"Hey," he heard a heavy voice in the hallway hail the two security officers as if on cue.

Mike the SWAT officer approached the two men, "I've got a word for the prisoner."

"Look, guy," the officer held up a hand, "you came in last time and we got our asses kicked by your captain for letting you see this kid," he jabbed a thick thumb in Dean's direction, "So get verification, then you can go inside."

"I've got direct orders from head FBI chief agent Viktor Henrikson to have access to this prisoner," with his gruff voice, gleaming combat boots, crisp uniform, and authority, he addressed the two officers who took a step back, "unless you want me to take it up with him and tell him you two directly disobeyed his orders and refused my entry, I would step aside."

The guard thought it over for a moment, then side-stepped to let Mike pass.

"Five minutes," the guard barked as Mike stepped inside.

Dean looked at him questioningly, his wrist still cuffed to the bed. He had been waiting for Mike to show up for hours now and give him a more detailed response on his request.

"What's going on?" Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Good news," Mike said in a hushed voice, "I'm willing to help you."

"Really?" He sounded a little too surprised.

"Keep it down," the officer gave him a slight glare, "but, yeah, I saved you both once, thought I'd see the job through."

"But-" Dean was too shocked to form a coherent sentence. This man was willing to risk his position to help them, obvious criminals in their eyes, "why?"

"Let's just say, I'll be glad to see the look on my captain's face when he finds out," Mike smiled smugly, "but here's the bad news."

"Oh, great," Dean sighed, "just give it to me."

"You're to be shipped off by nightfall," the SWAT officer raised an eyebrow, "and your brother, I'm afraid is in too worse a condition to be moved from the ICU."

"Come on," Dean's eyes flared, "I just want to see him, in case he wakes up-"

"He did," Mike said, "guy went berserk when he found out you were being sent away. He demanded a lawyer and pulled out legal terms like he was his own attorney."

"Yeah, he went to law school for a little," there was nostalgia in his tone, "didn't really pan out."

"There's really no way you can see him."

"But if he woke up, he's getting better right?" Dean hoped, "They can bring him on my floor, it'll make it easier."

"He's in a chemically induced coma now," Mike shook his head, "guy maxed out on morphine. Surgery is complete, he should be healing, but recovery is longer than expected."

"My brother?" Dean scoffed, "He can handle anything, that son of a bitch. He's been to hell and back," _literally,_ "whatever it is, he'll walk away from it."

"I do have one idea," Mike looked back at the guards to see if they were listening. The five minutes were almost up, "but you're not going to like it."

"I don't care," Dean said, resolutely.

"Your brother can't get out of the ICU in time for you to see him, you'll be long gone by then," Mike spoke lower, "but _you_ can get in."

"Oh," Dean's blood churned a little, "I see what you're saying."

"Look, no easy way to go about this. You want to see him, that's the way. You'll get to stay a little longer and it'll be easier to see your brother."

Dean exhaled deeply, thinking about the consequences. He couldn't really think of any; more time with his brother, that was good enough for him, "All right, I'll do it. When?"

"When the guards are taking you out," Mike slowly started to walk to the door, "you gotta instigate something. Target the guy about to crack, the guy breaking under the pressure. Keep pushing, make him snap. It wont be a nice, easy stroll for you, but it'll work. Probably."

Dean nodded and turned away as the SWAT officer stepped out the door and disappeared down the hall.

"Alright, boys," Viktor Henricksen addressed his agents, "we're going to get the prisoner and take him to a facility back East. Be very careful, the Winchesters are very artful and crafty. If you even think he's pulling a quick one, you take him down. Cuffs, straight jacket, even Hannibal Lecter's goddamn mask-I don't care. We are getting him to court, and he's going to prison," he concluded resolutely.

"What about the other one?" an agent called from the crowd.

"Sam Winchester is in no condition to try anything," Henricksen assured, "I'll keep some agents posted here, 24 hour watch. These boys have connections all over the place. Fake IDs, business cards, suits, and their own guys acting as FBI chief of staff answering phones when you call. Do background checks on every nurse that comes in, every doctor-hell, do two checks. These boys are not getting away."

There was a chorus of "yeses" and nodding heads.

"Good," Viktor nodded, "let's go."

6 men shuffled behind Henricksen and boarded the elevator to the 3rd floor. Dean was in for a treat, and Viktor couldn't wait to wrap up this investigation. He was taking the most precautions he could. This demon and hell crap was outrageous; criminals were dangerous, but crazy criminals? A disaster waiting to happen.

They walked down the hall, a perfect unit. Black boots hit the ground in unison and their FBI logo jackets gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The two guards protecting Dean's door looked quizzically at the approaching agents, and quickly stepped aside.

The room inside was dark, the Santa Fe night around 7:30 PM. Dusk was settling in, and Dean was laying on his side, asleep. As soon as the 7 men entered boisterously into his room, he startled awake. _Light sleeper,_ Viktor noticed.

His purple-ringed eyes looked bleary with little sleep, and his movements were restricted by the cuff attached to the bed.

"What the-hey!" Dean jumped awake.

"Dean Winchester," Viktor began as two men came around to his sides and uncuffed his wrists. His clothes were thrown at him, and he was roughly pulled out of the hospital bed. His hands were pinned behind his back and he growled at the two agents roughly handling his shoulder, "rise and shine, we're taking a ride to Virginia."

"What?" he was still trying to comprehend the situation.

"You heard me," Viktor ground his teeth and looked to the two agents, "come on, let's go."

"No, wait," Dean's eyes were hard and his tone dropped, "let me see my brother, please, just one more time."

"No can do, Dean," Viktor's tone was ice cold, his eyes freezing, "you should've thought about that before you started your little rampage all over the whole damn country. You're caught now, no getting out of it."

He was quickly changed and pushed out of the room surrounded by a border of broad FBI agents.

"Henricksen," Dean called, "my brother, is he okay? He won't be sent to prison, right? Tell them I forced him into going with me, that he didn't want any of it. Keep him out of jail, you can't put him in there."

"That's not your call, Mr. Winchester," Viktor kept his back turned, "it's up to a federal judge. Now, keep quiet and walk."

He was roughly corralled into the elevator and they descended down to the floor of the parking garage.

"Wait," he stomped his heels into the floor and the entourage was forced to stop.

"What is it, Dean?" Viktor rolled his eyes, "Just give it up, no tricks."

"I have to use the bathroom," his eyes were hard as stone, his expression unamused.

"You don't have permission to go," Viktor shook his head, "Virginia is waiting, we get there as soon as possible. Strict orders. Sam will be coming shortly-if he even recovers."

"I've lived here long enough, I know my rights, Henricksen," Dean growled, "now when did it become illegal for a guy to take a load off around here, huh?" he barked.

Viktor studied him for a moment. His sharp, alert eyes trying to decipher the tricks Dean had up his sleeve.

"Um, boss?" a meek voice called from the horde of FBI agents surrounding Dean Winchester.

"What?" Henricksen snapped.

"It's a long ride to Virginia," the lone agent continued, "and we've only got one armored truck. That means we'd have to stop along the way and it'll be more secure here than in the middle of the country. Lots of escape routes."  
Viktor seemed to be pondering it some more.

'That's true, Henricksen," Dean smiled deviously, "you don't know what I can be pulling off out there. I've got lots of tricks up my sleeve."

"Oh, all right, fine!" he waved his arms in the air, "two minutes. If you aren't out here by then, my men come in guns blazing."

Dean almost let his relief show in his sagging shoulders, but he resisted. He couldn't let them see any part of his dangerous plot as he was roughly dragged away by three agents.

"Hey, hey, easy there, watch the shoulder," he growled gruffly. God, he couldn't wait to get out of here.

Dean was practically thrown into the bathroom and he fell without his hands to catch his balance. The FBI agent almost came in there with him, but Dean absolutely refused to allow that. The door shut roughly behind him and he heard the shuffling, antsy footfalls of the agents right outside.

He needed to make it look like an accident. He had to get back into the ICU, to see Sammy and make sure they were going to be all right.

The moment he had finished his work, there was a heavy pounding on the door.

"Come out. Now, Mr. Winchester."

"All right, all right," he rolled his eyes in frustration, "I'm coming out."

He opened the door and all three agents tensed up as if he was about to attack. They scoped the bathroom and made sure nothing had been misplaced. His cuffs were retightened and he was held even harder by the arms while being dragged away.

"Jeez," he looked side to side at the broad men that flanked him, "what's a guy got to do to go to the bathroom around here."

"Shut it," came the hissing reply.

"No, seriously," Dean continued, "I mean, you guys run around all day like Henricksen's little lap dogs. Now look at you, on bathroom watch."

"Quiet," the growl behind him almost made him flinch.

"I mean props to you guys," he didn't stop, "for dealing with this crap all day, but come on, haven't you had enough? All day, every day, day in, day out, you deal with scumbags like me, am I right?" he tried to throw in a causal laugh, "you go home to your kids asking 'Dad, what did you do today?' and you _want_ to tell them you fought some kick ass crime, but instead you deal with us low-lifes."

He felt a surge of satisfaction as the nails of the man holding his arms dug into the skin of his leather jacket. _Just a little bit more._

"Then your wife nags cause you aren't giving her too much attention, and she's going on and on about her new hot yoga class. You sit there, all you want to do is have a beer and kick back, but you can't," he saw the visible fury contorting the faces of the agent gripping his arm like it was a rag doll, "cause you only make $35,000 a year-after taxes-and-"

"SHUT UP!" Dean surged against the wall as a force the size of a dump truck rammed him into the wall. The billboards shook, the glass wavered, the papers flitted to the floor, and Dean was pretty sure he just scored a concussion because of the dizzying impact his skull made with the plaster.

"Whoa, hold on there, Jim!"

"Let him go, leave him!"

"You smart ass punk!" Dean was right, the FBI agent holding him had cracked. _Just a little bit more_ , "You all think you know it all, huh!?" he screamed it in his face like a drill sergeant, "Fall in line, buddy, or hell is coming your way!"

The other agents ardently pulled at his arms, but he was the biggest guy of the group… fortunate and unfortunate circumstance in the situation.

"What are you gonna do, Jimmy?" Dean coaxed his anger, "Leave me to Henricksen where we'll ride all those hours back to Virginia together? But you can't fight back, because you're too busy eating out of Viktor's palm to try anything funny, right?"

"Let him go, let him go!"

"Damn it, Jim, Henricksen is gonna hear about this!"

"You hear that?" Dean laughed in his face, "You're over. Henricksen owns you now."

 _"_ _That DOES it!"_

Dean was thrown to the floor and he scrambled to try and get to his feet, his hunter fighting skills kicking in. A right hook smashed into his cheekbone and his entire face burned with pain. He felt the skin immediately break and black spots whiz across his vision at the sheer strength of the punch and his recovery.

"Atta boy, Jim!" Dean spat blood on the floor, urging the mountain of an agent with the strength of the sea to keep going, "Throw another, come on, I dare you."

"Jim, stop!"

"Leave him!"

The man descended again and knocked Dean up against the wall. His fists slammed into his abdomen three times. His innards felt like gush and he was sure there were a few cracked ribs in there somewhere.

Another punch, a leftie, crossed him and pushed him back again. Raw pain burst in his temple as his mild concussion just elevated to severe.

He knew if this guy kept coming, then Dean would be dead in a matter of minutes. He angled his body for the next blow, his shoulder vulnerable and bare to take a hit.

The older Winchester brother shouted in pain and staggered back as the knuckled fist connected with the raw, new wound on Dean's shoulder. He already felt the stitches burst and blood seep through his shirt, making him shiver. He groaned as his back hit the wall and punches rained down on him, but all he could feel was the excruciating burning of his newly reopened wound.

A few more punches and jabs were thrown at him, the blows pounding his fragile head and exposed body. He barely registered their pain as the full effect of his non-morphine, unstitched, reopened gun shot wound hit him full force. His weak body felt cold and shaking, a sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Jim, look what you did!"

"Damn it, we're screwed!"

This made the man stop. He finally realized the large amounts of red staining his fingertips and dripping onto the white tiled floor eerily.

"Oh, no, oh, no," the agent stuttered, "what did I do?"

"What the hell did you do, Jim!?"

"I-I-"

"Quick, he's bleeding out!"

"Oh, crap, it's his gunshot wound. It's reopened!"

Rough hands grabbed Dean and he was laid out on the floor. The lights above him swam haphazardly in his fading vision and the fingers prodded at the growing blood stains in his shirt. Mike the SWAT officer was right, he'd definitely be seeing Sam now. Pain engulfed him and he'd smite any demon to get a drop of morphine at the moment.

"Someone!" he heard voices above him, "Get a nurse!"

Distant footfalls sounded like thunder as they aggressively approached Dean.

"What the hell is this, what happened?!" A furious and familiar voice reached his ears. It was Henricksen.

"S-sir, I don't know-!"

"Save it!" Viktor snapped, "Someone call a damn doctor!"

"Here, here's a nurse! He's coming!"

A pale man with pitch black hair in blue scrubs swam in Dean's vision.

"Get a room ready in the ICU!"

Sam felt himself slowly start to come to. Sounds reached his ringing ears and sleep started to evade him. He remembered where he was and why he was here. Unfortunately, that included the fact that his brother was being sent away to super max prison. His eyes widened and his heart clenched; immediately, he called the nurse who came bounding into his room.

"Mr. Winchester?" she was panting as she came to a halt, "You phoned like it was an emergency!"

"Ma'am, please," Sam started, his dulled pain starting to register, "my brother, Dean Winchester, is he here?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Winchester, the hospital has lots of floors-"

"Can you check?" he interrupted adamantly.

She pursed her lips and looked around, then at the cuff on his wrist. Suddenly, it dawned on her which room she had come in.

"Um," she backed out cautiously, "I think I'd better go…"

"No, no, please," he pulled against the metal restraint attached to the bed and lurched forward, "I won't say anything, just please check-"

She ran out of the room, fast as a hare.

Sam sighed in defeat and laid back down. How was he supposed to get news on Dean? He hadn't seen Henricksen since the shootout (he really hated the guy) and now he just pulled the rug from under his feet by keeping his brother's location secret. Dean was probably equally worried too. They were partners-brothers-that bond didn't break easy.

Suddenly, down the hall, Sam heard a commotion. It sounded like 15 people were storming down the entrance, and that it was. Immediately, he recognized the black suits marching down the ICU halls in unison. He tried to move to get a better look but flinched as the painful wound in his leg flared defiantly.

The FBI agents were all surrounding a gurney, and a feeling of overwhelming dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized who the injured man probably was.

"Dean?" he called in disbelief, his eyes wide, "Dean!"

He struggled to rip his arm from the handcuff, Sam even contemplated breaking the plastic hand rest of the hospital bed off just to be free. They scooted the gurney past, fast as lightning, but he did manage to catch a glimpse of a brown leather jacket and spiky brown hair.

"Henricksen!" he called as the FBI chief agent filed past as well. His hand was to his ear, speaking into a phone, but he heard Sam's loud bellow and turned to him for a moment.

"Hold on," Viktor spoke quickly into his phone and halted in Sam's doorway

"My brother! What happened to him, what have you done?!"

Henricksen just exhaled deeply and shook his head, putting the phone back up to his ear. The agent turned on his heel and rushed after the retreating gurney.

"No, come back!" he roared, anger radiating off of him.

He felt utterly helpless and extremely useless. His gunshot wound spiked with pain, but his fury was more overpowering. Sam vowed he would get out of here and see his brother, but he first hoped that Dean was okay.

"Mike!"

The SWAT officer flinched as he heard the voice of his captain, but slowly turned around. His biting tone and frosty glare was enough to make him feel like he was being reprimanded again back when he was training at the base.

"Yes, captain?" he said, cautiously.

"What the hell did you do?!" his captain growled and gripped Mike by the shoulders, pushing him back against the wall where he couldn't escape.

His temper flared, "Captain, let me go."

"You, idiot, you don't know what you've done," the captain spat in his face, "you told that boy to do what he did, to see his brother, right? You're soft, Mike, you never had the goddamn _guts_ to kill a guilty man!"

"Guilty?!" Mike countered, "Captain, you were prepared to allow Brian to shoot innocent, unarmed men! What kind of code of honor are we defending?!"

"One that doesn't apply to maniacs terrorizing our country!" his superior continued to shout. They were getting interesting glances in their direction, "Mike, the FBI has been trying to catch these two for almost a year now! The sooner these criminals are locked away, the better, you hear? These boys are crafty, they've managed to escape the nation's police, skipping from town to town, _hurting_ people. And you chose to shoot up one of your own men instead!"

"Let me go, Captain," Mike pushed his leading officer away from him, his anger hard to contain.

The captain looked at Mike and shook his head. He relaxed and let his hands go, freeing his officer from against the wall.

"You don't have any respect for our rules, Mike. I've been thinking about it ever since Brian got the short end of the stick. Now I'm sure. You fight for the wrong side of the team, officer," the captain sighed and shook his head, sounding tired, "and that's why I'm going to have to ask you to resign."

"W-what?"

"You heard me. Leave your papers on the desk by the end of the week. Understood?" his icy blue eyes turned back and glared at the open-mouthed Mike.

He didn't wait for an answer, and walked off.

 **Thank you for all the story love! Next chapter will be here soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

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Sam was smoldering in his hospital bed, his mind reeling with thoughts of escape. So far, he had come up with magically summoning a demon and somehow tricking it into freeing him. It was an unlikely notion, but anything worked at this point.

He didn't expect a SWAT officer to enter his room and be that key hope.

"Um?" Sam looked around as a determined looking officer stormed into his room and shut the door, "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're Sam Winchester?"

"Yes," he sighed, tiredly. He didn't realize how unsurprising a situation like this was in his life. As a hunter, relatively known in the real, supernatural, and godly world, lots of people knew his name.

"I'm Mike," the officer looked at him, "I'm here to help."

"Help?" Sam perked up, a little intrigued, "How? You're going to need a miracle at this point."

"It ain't Christmas yet, but I think we can whoop something together."

"Wait, you said your name is Mike?"

"Yeah."

"But, aren't you the guy who-"

"Saved your asses? Yes, pleasure to meet you."

Sam was speechless. He didn't know what to say, whether to thank this guy or knock him up side the head for allowing the shoot out to happen in the first place.

"Okay, sir," the younger Winchester brother was wary, "what's going on?"

"Your brother."

"Dean?" all of a sudden, Sam was all ears. He wouldn't have cared if this man shot him 3 times, he had info on his brother and that was all he wanted to hear, "What is it?"

"Supposed to be shipped to federal prison a few hours ago. He was being loaded into a van on its way to Virginia."

"But aren't I a suspect too? Why did they just take him?" Sam inquired.

"You were too banged up to be transported," Mike gave him a quick once over, "I mean…look at you. You're beat."

"No thanks to your officers," Sam huffed. His headache was amping up to full blast at the moment, and the dark circles under his eyes felt like lead weights. His leg was healing, but the medicine was blocking off most of the pain that was stinging him.

"Hey," Mike's eyes flashed, and he pointed a stern finger at Sam, "don't you disrespect by brothers, you hear?"

Sam looked confused. Wasn't this guy betraying his "brothers" by helping him? "O-okay, I'm sorry," his brows were furrowed in puzzlement, "didn't mean it."

"Yeah, well, I liked your brother better," Mike ran to the window and looked through the shades before shutting them, "because he was going to get shipped off, I told him the only way he could see you was by getting himself into the ICU," Mike shrugged, "there's only one sure fire way to do that."

Sam already knew where this train was headed. His eyes widened and he lunged against the cuffs, his fury uncontrollable, "You helped my brother get into the ICU!?"

"Yeah, that's the goddamn idea," Mike corrected him deliberately, challenging Sam.

"Dean might die because you had a half ass plan that could've gotten him killed! He might not survive the night because of it!"

"Hey, calm down," Mike held up a brow and his face was stern, "not like you did much good. We were running out of time, I couldn't see a better option. Your brother went through with it, that was his choice."

"Of course he went through with it!" Sam longed to rip free of the metal restraints and floor the SWAT officer, "Dean is the 'do first, ask questions later' kind of guy, and you decided it was okay to give him some crazy idea and call it a day?!"

"Listen, Mr. Winchester," he could hear the threat lurking in Mike's voice, "It's not my obligation to help you. I could care less and let your sorry ass rot away in a federal prison, but I got a certain grudge against my captain and I don't want to see you boys get put away. If it weren't for me, both of you would be gone by now."

Sam had to restrain himself with every muscle in his tired body. The guy was right, if the roles were switched Sam would do the same. It was crazy and stupid, but they were brothers-and that's what brothers did. He controlled his breathing with all his might and leveled Mike with a potent glare.

"Okay, Mike," Sam said through gritted teeth, "what do you plan on doing now?"

"That's better," the officer nodded, "now, I don't know the extent of his injuries, but I can find out. Give me time, I'll be back. Until then, rest up."

Sam didn't have time to answer before Mike dodged out the door and down the hall.

Viktor slammed his palm against the table in Dean's hospital room. He was alone, except for the unconscious Winchester in the bed before him. He had a tube in his nose to help him breath and apparently under heavy medication because he hadn't woken up in a few hours. There were dark, fresh bruises scattered all over his body as observed by the nurses and the scans; even some popping up on his cheekbones from the heavy hits he sustained. Henricksen couldn't believe this slipped under his watch. He couldn't bring this up as a purposeful action from Dean to the FBI board because Jim was the one who delivered the first punch-then he pulled a knife?! No way, that wasn't going to fly.

So, here he was, confined to this damn hospital a little longer. He hoped Dean was getting his beauty sleep, because if he woke up he'd be getting a nice whooping from Viktor. The SWAT was up his ass for losing a man on the job, but that's what these jobs implied. It was dangerous and life-threatening, but he guessed that they didn't think it would be their own man that pulled the trigger. Now there was a dead SWAT officer, two injured prisoners, a fuming captain, and a humiliated FBI chief agent.

There was a knock at the door, and Henricksen looked up.

"Hey," Viktor furrowed his brows, "you're the guy."

"Yeah," the young former SWAT officer stepped inside sheepishly, "I'm the one that killed my one guy, yes, that's me. Mike," he extended his hand.

Henricksen took it warily, he didn't know if the Captain was aware of this exchange, "Viktor Henricksen," he returned, "I'm sorry about your partner."

His eyes grew stormy, "Not as much as me."

"Well," he cleared his throat, "what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm forced to resign," Mike bowed his head, "captain is unhappy, and I just wanted to come and formally thank you for the opportunity to work with such esteemed FBI agents."

"Why thank you," he glowed with pride, it was nice for his men to be complimented here and there, "it would've been better if Winchester over there didn't open his big mouth," Henricksen jabbed a finger to Dean in the bed.

"Yes," Mike looked over, "these are the boys that I saved? The ones that cost Brian's life?"

"Yeah, this is one of them. The older one is Dean, and the younger one is Sam. He's supposed to be sedated from what I heard," Henricksen replied.

"Hmm," Mike pretended to look thoughtful, "how's he doing?"

"As good as he could, I guess. Jim, one of mine, knocked him up pretty good. Concussion, bruises, cracked ribs, dislocations, and a reopened gunshot wound."

"Oh no," Mike feigned surprise, "will he be all right?"

"Oh, yeah," Viktor snorted, "these boys come back from the dead every week."

"Any word on when he'll be taken down to Virginia?"

"Doctors say he should be awake by tomorrow morning. After that, maybe a day or two before he's transferred."

"And the other?"

"The minute Sam wakes up, he'll be taken too. Estimating the time for their injuries, I'd say the Winchesters will be shipping out the same day."

"Well, I'd better head out," Mike extended his hand, "it was good to work with you, Agent Henricksen."

"The pleasure is mine."

Mike dodged through the hospital halls as fast as possible to get back to the other Winchester's room. The news on Dean wasn't good, they'd have to rush to get out of here. He kept asking himself why he helped these guys, but he envisioned Brian's falling body and the captain's frosty glare and he was refiled with a new urge to take action. He slipped into Sam's room, but there was a nurse present as well. Sam was lying back, his eyes closed and hands resting on his stomach.

"Excuse me," Mike stepped inside, "but, he was just awake. Why-"

"You could've taken one look at the poor guy and seen how much pain he was in," the nurse placed her hands on her hips, "Criminal or not, he has a fresh gunshot wound, he was maxed out on morphine, and he should've still been sedated. I'm surprised he didn't call another nurse in to put him under earlier."

She stepped past Mike and sashayed down to the nurse's station.

What was he going to do? Both the boys were put out, and he was supposed to get them out of here by the next day, or they'd be gone for a long time.

A man walked into the room, straight past Mike. He had greying hair, a black suit, and a laminated name tag. He looked like a superior officer from the highest branch of government from the authoritative way he carried himself and his aura of urgency,

The guy gave one scrutinizing look at Mike in his green camouflage uniform, "Who the hell are you?"

"Who are you?" Mike was guarded.

"Executive Officer McGill, Homeland Security" the man tapped his badge which glared at him under the harsh fluorescent lights, "now, answer my question, son."

"Mike Myers, SWAT, sir," he saluted.

"Save the salutation crap," McGill rolled his eyes, "you can leave now, son."

This guy's sharpened tone and harsh tongue, reminded Mike of a father protecting his own kids. He narrowed his eyes and studied the man some more.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"Are you questioning me, boy?" the officer took an aggressive step forward.

"Are you him?" Mike tread carefully.

"What the hell are you talking about?" McGill growled at him.

"The one that Dean was telling me about? Bill?" Mike shook his head, "No, Bobby."  
Officer McGill relaxed. He stepped back and his hostile glare dropped, "Yeah, that's me," but he still was guarded, "and who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"I'm the one who saved these boys," Mike sighed sadly, "killed my partner."

"Oh, you're that fella," Bobby met his gaze, "sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well, Captain wants me to resign. Thought I'd help these guys on the way down."

"Mighty fine of you," Bobby's guarded expression resurfaced, "but me and Rufus can handle this."

"Rufus?" Mike protested as Bobby turned his back, "Who's that?"

"My associate," the pretend Officer McGill threw him a hard look not to pry any further, "Now, thanks for all your help, Mike, but I think it's time you left."

"No, hold on," Mike stood his ground, "I helped Sam and Dean all this time while you were gone. What did you do? These guys would be long gone by now if it weren't for me. Look, I have military clearance still, I can help you out."

"And why? Why should we trust you?"

Mike saw in Bobby's eyes that he was fiercely protective of these two-like a father. But from the file he read, Sam and Dean's dad died a few years ago. This Bobby character must've taken them in and acted the role of their father when no one could. He admired that and knew why it was so hard to let some outsider into their lives.

"Listen, I want to help, sir. I haven't known these two for long, but I don't think they're criminals. It felt wrong putting handcuffs on them, and even though I can't prove it, I think these boys are innocent. So, you're going to need all the help you can get to bust these guys out of here and you have a better shot to do it with me around."  
Bobby sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair, "Oh, all right. Fine. But you do everything me or Rufus tell you, okay?"

"Understood, sir."

"Now, tell me what happened."

"Yeah, Bobby?" Rufus opened his cell and held it to his ear as the call came through.

"Rufus, we're pretty deep in this one."

"Why? What's wrong?" Rufus lowered his voice and veered away from any prying ears. He was in the hospital waiting room, passing the time till the doctor arrived and informed him on the boys' condition.

"SWAT and FBI. This is gonna be tough, but I have some help."

"From who?"

"Kid named Mike, SWAT officer, offered to help us out."

"Bobby, that sounds shady to me," Rufus' doubt was evident in his tone, "sounds a little too good to be true for this kid to offer when we don't even know him."

"I know, Rufus, I know, but trust me. I think he's okay."

Rufus shook his head, but knew there was no veering Bobby away on this one, "Oh, all right. Fine, now what's the plan? These FBI folks are getting antsy, I can feel it. They can't wait to take our boys away."

"And they're not gonna," Bobby was resolute, "what did the doctors say?"

"Nurse told me the boys will be on medication until at least tomorrow, but heavy painkillers for sure."

"Oh, great, we're gonna have a couple of clumsy, stoned sasquatches on our hands. How are we gonna get them out if they can't even walk straight?"

"I don't know, Bob, but Sam's leg is shot and Dean can't even sit upright. How would we do it, even if they weren't on the meds? Fake their deaths?"

"These boys have seen the light so many times, it would be easy to do," Bobby scoffed. Rufus could practically imagine the eye roll, "but what about the old fashion way? Hotwire an ambulance, steal the guys away?"

"Too much attention, Bobby," Rufus disagreed, "We'd be plowing down Santa Fe streets with helicopters, cop cars, and every goddamn news team in America on our red ass. We need to think of something else. Why not fake their deaths?"

"How, Rufus? The docs are keeping a close eye. Both boys can't spontaneously bite it after the whole damn hospital is doing everything they can to keep their blood pumping. Something else, there's got to be something."

"What does the SWAT kid have to say?" Rufus inquired.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Didn't ask."

"Well, it might be a good idea."

"I can't say, Rufus, do you think he's got something?"

"Hey, Bob, you're the one who told me not two minutes ago he's worth trusting. Just give it a shot."

He heard muffled conversation from the other line for a few seconds. He could clearly depict Bobby's gruff slanderous way of speaking then a younger and chipper voice come through.

"Well, the kid says that maybe we can do a body switch," Rufus heard the compromise from the other two in his ear.

"What?!" he didn't even try to keep a hushed voice, "Bobby, I came all the way out here, I'm wearing my best suit, and you're actually thinking about doing a body double off the word of some guy we don't even know? That's ridiculous, it'll never work!"

"Excuse me," Rufus heard a new voice through the cell phone, "This is Mike Myers, SWAT."

"Pleasure," Rufus' voice dripped with sarcasm, "now why don't you be a good kid and hand the phone back so the adults can talk."

"With all do respect, sir, I'm 29. I've done two tours in Afghanistan before I was 25, I've had my brethren in arms blown up before my eyes, I've had to console widows countless of times, I have to deal with PTSD for the rest of my life, I just killed my partner, and I'm forced to resign from the SWAT administration. So, you tell me who's having a bad day here. You or me?"

Rufus tugged at his collar and cleared his throat, "I-I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, not my best day," the hostile snap made Rufus feel guilt wash over him, "so hear me out, okay?"

"Fine," he conceded, "tell me what you got."

It only took two minutes before Rufus was ready to charge into battle with this Mike fella. His idea was rash, clever, tactical, but risky. He had to rely on human ignorance and good acting to pull this off. It wasn't going to be easy, but the trio had come up with a solution to get Sam and Dean out of Santa Fe and underground once more where Henricksen couldn't find them.

"All right," Rufus smiled and felt excitement surge through him, "let's do it!"

"Come on, you," Henricksen walked tersely through the hallway, on a mission intent to get to Dean Winchester's room, "let's go. Page Jim, call the Delta Team. Everyone here now."

"Sir?" an agent behind him tried to keep up with his speedy pace, "What's going on?"

"We're transporting the boys early, let's go. Pull up the van, we're heading to Virginia," Viktor rounded the corner like a race car.

"But sir! The doctors, their conditions-we don't have the proper tools to transport them across the country," the agent protested again as his team was creating a larger mob behind him.

"Listen, all of you," Viktor didn't turn around, "I'm tired of waiting. These two boys are coming with me to Virginia whether they like it or not! Now, let's go!"

"Excuse me, excuse me!" inside Dean Winchester's room a nurse changing his IV looked startled as 7 suit-clad agents stormed in, all of them determined looks etched into their faces, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Listen, ma'am, I'm Chief Agent Viktor Henricksen of the FBI. This man has to come with me."

"Are you crazy? He's not even awake! You can't transport him, his condition isn't stable enough yet! He could die!" the nurse looked awfully protective of the convict in the bed. Dean's hair was still spiked, a bit ruffled, but his eyes were closed, a thick gauze around his shoulder, an IV in his wrist, a breathing mask on his face. He was nowhere near that smug smiled young man Henricksen always met.

"That's for the Federal Bureau of Investigations to sort out, not me," Henricksen motioned for two of his male agents to Dean' bedside. Another agent mobbed the nurse away from Dean as the two ripped the IV out of his skin and threw his oxygen mask aside.

Immediately his stats started to plummet.

Dean's eyes scrunched a little in his unconscious state, already he started to pant slightly, not enough oxygen flow going through him now. The two agents hoisted him up like a rag doll and his head hit his chest. His eyes were still closed, but the heart monitor was starting to spike.

"Let him go!" the nurse screamed, "This is outrageous!"

"Get him in the chair," Henricksen ground his teeth and gestured to the wheelchair in the corner.

The agents threw the blankets off Dean's body and dragged out of the bed, across the floor. He was thrown roughly into the seat, his body barely managing to sit upright. A dot of blood started to peak through his bandages.

"What the hell is going on here?!" a man in a white lab coat entered. He had a clipboard in his hands, dressed in scrubs, and an armada of nurses behind him, "Put that man back in his hospital bed this second!"

"Excuse me, doctor?" Henricksen stepped forward.

"Doctor Hamilton, now, leave my patient alone," he said curtly as the nurses surged forward.

"Stay back!" Viktor said with such force they actually cringed and stopped in their tracks, "That man is my property, I can take him where I like!"

"He's not your property," Dr. Hamilton sniffed, his arms on his hips, "He's my patient, _my_ responsibility. Because his medical proxy is currently on the second floor in a chemical coma, that makes me his sole decision maker. There is no next of kin, no emergency contact, nothing. This boy may be a fugitive, but he's under my care and I will say when it's time for him to be released. Now, put him back in his bed or I will be forced to intercede!"

"Intercede?" Viktor laughed, "You? I'm a Chief Investigative Agent of the FBI, I'm the federal government. How could you possibly wish to intercede, Dr. Hamilton?"

"How do you think the FBI will look, Chief Investigator Henricksen, when I call security to drag you and your entourage out of my hospital," the doctor stepped forward, his lip curling slightly, "huh?"

Viktor's lip twitched. He didn't like being told what to do, that's why he worked so hard to be in his position. That's why these boys in particular annoyed him.

"Fine, Dr. Hamilton," Henricksen spoke low and serious, "I'll play your little charade," he hissed, "but if these boys aren't ready by tomorrow morning, then I don't care what it takes-hell, I'll even bring a battering ram-to bust these doors down and take both Sam and Dean Winchester away, understood? You have until tomorrow morning." Henricksen intentionally slammed into Dr. Hamilton's shoulder on the way out.

He motioned for his men to pull Dean out of the wheelchair, and they laid him back down in his bed. The nurses immediately flocked and redressed the bandages, re-hooked his IVs, and remade his bed.

 **Hope you guys like it!**


	6. Chapter 6

Mike heard the whole conversation. He was on his way to Dean Winchester's room to check on his condition when he saw the stand-off between FBI agent and doctor. Henricksen gave Dr. Hamilton until morning for the boys to be shipped off to super max prison, that left the three a narrow window to free both Sam and Dean.

He had proposed the idea of the body switch, of course Sam and Dean would be unconscious the whole time due to their medication, but it was going to be close. Mike himself wouldn't be able to take part because Henricksen recognized his face, but he was sure the agent hadn't seen Rufus or Bobby before. It would have to be very convincing, but to Mike it seemed this odd family had gone through so much worse and could take on so much more.

"Bad news," Mike roughly walked into the supply closet where Rufus and Bobby were currently trying to formulate a plan out of sight.

"What is it, kid?" Bobby's brow furrowed.

"It's Henricksen, he's pulling them out by morning."

"Damn it," Bobby slammed his fist against the metal rack, the object vibrating his anger.

"Hold on, hold on, calm down," Rufus held up his hands, "we can just speed up the plan, right?"

"We haven't even thought of one, genius!" Bobby snarled, "How do you expect us to go through with one?!"

"Well.." Rufus looked to Mike, "you're the one who came up with it, run it by us."

"Um," Mike rubbed the back of his neck, "it's quick, impulsive, and unreliable-"

"But it's our best option," Bobby rolled his eyes, "yeah, I get it, keep going."

Mike quickly reiterated the game plan he had in mind to the two men listening to him intently. As he kept going, he saw Bobby's face screw up in doubt and Rufus just clear his throat.

"Um," Rufus began, "listen, Mike, I don't know if that's going to work. I mean, these are FBI agents against a couple of fake ID tags," he held up his phony badge, "this'll never fly."

"Rufus," Bobby badgered, "what other ideas do we got?"

"Certainly we can think of something better than this," he huffed, "what would Dean and Sam say?"

They were silent for a moment.

"Dean would probably down it with a glass of scotch," Bobby smirked nostalgically, his eyes filled with sadness, "and Sam would give you the puppy dog eye thing he does."

"Yeah," Rufus smiled, "I guess they would. But, Bobby, we could be putting them in more danger through this."

"Either way, Rufus, I don't think the boys would take kindly their life sentence in a super max prison in isolation," Bobby's temper flared just thinking about it, "this is our last chance."

"Oh, hell," Rufus shook his head, "I'm either too old or too far gone, but fine. I'll follow you anywhere," he laughed heartily.

"All right," Mike rubbed his hands together, "Let's get this thing going. I'm headed to talk to my boys."

"I'm off to the garage," Bobby nodded.

"And I'm going to the morgue," Rufus started to turn, "you all know what to do."

Rufus, still dressed in his suit, went into the sanitized, white-tiled environment of the hospital morgue. It was sterile and smelled strongly of bleach and embalming fluid. The stench of decomposing human flesh was masked by the chemical process, but Rufus had smelled that odor many times before, he was hardly phased. He walked to the metal drawers where the corpses were kept and scanned for the name of the SWAT officer, Brian.

He picked the proper drawer and slid it out. The morgue manager had let him through when he pulled out his badge and he was free for his inspection.

"All right, Brian," Rufus stared down at the cloth covered corpse under him, "let's see what you can do."

Rufus pulled back the cloth and observed the condition of Brian's mutilated corpse. The autopsy stitches spread across his skin like train tracks and the eerie paleness of his skin easily confessed that the man was clearly dead. Brian's purple ringed eyes were closed and his face was expressionless. Rufus noticed the clean bullet wound in his skull, through the hair. It was there because of Mike. The blood and tissue was cleaned away so it looked like a neat little circular tear through his head. With a little hair gel and some combing skills, they could cover it up easily.

Rufus pulled the cloth back over and had a moment of silence out of respect. This young man was abiding the law and probably had friends and family where he lived, even though he tried to kill the boys, he should still be respected.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rufus noticed a finger move.

He immediately froze. The older hunter's eyes were fixated on the limb that was defying the current permanent state Brian was supposed to be in.

The whole hand twitched.

"What the-?" Rufus' senses immediately heightened and he jumped back.

Brian's arm raised a little off the table, then dropped again. Rufus pulled out his phone, his eyes still frozen on the corpse.

His upper body lifted from the table, then slammed back down. His eyes were still closed, his face still expressionless, yet his body clearly moving.

Bobby's contact name appeared before Rufus' eyes.

The cloth slipped to the floor, and the autopsy stitches on Brian's body looked like they were about to explode.

Rufus pressed dial.

Brian's eyes shot open.

The first ring echoed through the hunter's ear.

The body lifted itself once more into a sitting position, his expressionless, glassy gaze settling right on Rufus.

The second ring came through.

Rufus' mouth was hanging open in awe as he saw the bare, dead corpse of Brian sitting up and glaring him down like he was some monster.

 _Monster._

"Oh, crap," Rufus said softly, in shock, "demon."

The stitches started oozing black smoke, Brian's pupils turning black. His irises were consumed by the darkness of hell as his body became a vessel for a child of Satan.

The guttural voice of Brian spoke to him, clearly altered by the thing coursing through his veins.

 _"_ _Tell me where Sam and Dean Winchester are."_

Rufus was speechless, the phone ringing still going softly. He reached for the knife behind his belt very discreetly as he kept the attention of the demon before him.

"Okay," he held up a hand, "calm down, now, calm down."

" _Where are Sam and Dean Winchester_?" the demon spoke with more force this time, Brian's veins pulsing with black fluid.

Rufus blinked and swung the blade of his enchanted knife in the direction of the demon. Brian's body quickly side swiped and dodged the death blow from the hunter. It stood up on the floor, completely off the table, facing Rufus. The demon had the advantage of a SWAT officer's body physique, youth, and training on his side and with one hand, he slammed Rufus' head against the corner of the examination table and he went down.

Rufus felt pain and blood explode from his head wound as the palm came down and blindsided him with the corner of the metal slab. The world spun as he tried to get his bearings and attack once more, but Brian stepped over him fluidly and walked straight out of the room. Rufus attempted to sit up and follow it, to protect the people from this thing walking among them, but a black cloud passed over him and he fell as the floor fell out beneath him.

"Rufus?"

The hunter started to come to, very aware of the cold tile under his cheek.

"Rufus, you there?" Bobby's voice started to speak through the cellphone.

Rufus cracked open his eyelids, the white light filtering through and drops of red catching as well.

"Rufus?"

"Bobby?" he croaked, swatting at the cellphone in an attempt to bring it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Bobby," his hoarse voice managed as blood was flowing into his eyes.

"There you are, Rufus, what took you so long?" Bobby's grating voice hurt his ringing ears.

"Bobby…help."

"Rufus?" immediately Bobby's voice turned hard and edgy, "What happened."

"Demon…in the hospital," he panted, "Sam…and Dean."

"Rufus, where are you now?"

"Morgue…" the world was dizzying around him, he wouldn't be around much longer.

"Are you hurt?"

Rufus was breathing hard, his blood mingling with his blurry vision, "Bobby…don't worry about me…the boys….they need your help."

"Okay, okay, Rufus, hold on, all right. I'm gonna send the kid Mike down and help you out. You're gonna be okay, you hear? Stay awake, okay? Stay alive."

The line cut and the dial tone echoed in Rufus' ears as he blacked out again.

The demon inhabiting Brian's body glared hungrily at the human morsels all around it. The body was now clad in a pair of pale blue scrubs to look semi-presentable in its society. The corpse still looked deathly pale and detached from its body, but humans were so weak and pesky, it was surprised the corpse made it this far.

Its sole purpose was to find Sam and Dean Winchester. How it hated those names, and hated those humans even more so.

Orders from high in Hell told all of its demon brothers and sisters to catch and kill the two notorious hunters. They posed problems and always managed to stop the cunning plans the leaders of Hell proposed.

It had gotten a whiff of the Winchesters on a case in New Mexico, and it crossed miles and miles to get there. It made it directly to the scene where both the hunters were being surrounded by FBI and SWAT teams on an old dock. It felt particular dislike radiating a gentlemen high on the dock and it entered the vulnerable human body easily. With a gun in hand and a body to work, it opened fire on the Winchester boys as "Brian." When it was shot, an unpredictable move by the human next to the corpse it was borrowing, the demon was temporarily stranded in the body. The blow to the head slightly knocked it off as well and it took some rest and power to mobilize the body again. Now, it was in for the kill. It distinctly remembered injuring Sam and Dean-one to the leg and the other to a shoulder. They were easy targets now and it would be so simple to kill the infamous hunters and bring their mutilated and mangled corpses back to Hell and Purgatory where it would flaunt it's trophies to all its brethren and be promoted to a Prince of Hell.

It overheard that one of the Winchesters was being kept on the second floor and the demon slowly shuffled along in the corpse. It dragged itself past a few hospital rooms where it could already sense Death would be visiting soon. The nameplate of one read: Winchester, Sam.

It crept inside, the lights dimmed and the door locking behind it. There he was, one of the famous Winchester Brothers, at its mercy,

The demon slithered closer to Sam's unconscious body lying flat in the hospital bad. The hunter's eyes were closed, the medicine pumping into his feeble human form probably causing this state, but his leg had a thick bandage wrapped around it.

It could practically hear the heart beating in the chest of Sam, and it relished in the precious noise. Now, all it had to do was end it once and for all.

"Rufus?" a voice called through the morgue rooms, "Rufus?"

He lifted his head up slightly from the floor and caught the light brown hair of the SWAT officer Mike behind a doorway. Rufus' blurry vision spotted his cellphone and he threw it with all his might at the door. Mike jumped and turned around at the sound, bursting through the doorway when he noticed the older hunter sprawled on the floor.

"Mr. Singer told me you'd be down here," Mike crouched next to the injured Rufus and saw the blood staining the metal examination table and the floor. A trail of red made it's way down the morgue drain and he shivered, "you're going to be okay."

"It's the guy," Rufus croaked in his scratchy voice and pointed to the empty table, "Brian…"

"What?" Mike shook his head, taken aback, "I-I don't understand, what about Brian?"

"He's out there…the boys…demon."

"Demon?" Mike stumbled back, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, just get me up!" he growled and Mike swooped in, picking up Rufus from the floor, "You're pal Brian…is possessed," he panted, "and he's heading for…Sam and Dean." Rufus coughed and spots of blood dripped onto his jacket from his head wound.

"Come on," Mike's face turned white, "you don't know what you're saying, you got hit pretty hard. I'll take you to get it cleaned, let's go-"

An iron grip landed on Mike's wrist and he turned to see Rufus staring at him straight into his soul, "Sam and Dean are in trouble," he wheezed, "and your Brian is out there finishing the job."

"But-but, Brian is dead," Mike argued, "stop horsing me around, I get it you guys don't trust me yet, but this is just cruel-"

"Shut up, damn it, and listen!" Rufus shook Mike's shoulder,"You go out there...and protect those boys, you hear? If you don't believe me... check the morgue drawers...for his body."

Mike slowly deposited Rufus on a chair and advanced towards the metal drawers. Dread filled his body as he was scared of what he might encounter. He opened the doors one by one, but didn't spot his former partner. The drawer that did read his name was empty, and Rufus' blood stained the edge.

"O-okay," Mike's voice shook, "even by some crazy chance, someone took Brian, then-"

"No, Mike, no one _took_ Brian," Rufus growled, "he stood up, bashed me in the head, and walked off like no tomorrow."

"But how-"

"Not important, right now, the lives of Sam and Dean...is what we need to watch out for," Rufus had a hand trying to stop the bleeding on his head, "Bobby is probably on his way to the boys now, but...we don't only have the FBI, but the supernatural on our tails too. Now, steel up, and get your ass out there and protect the Winchesters!"

Mike nodded like he would to his own drill sergeant and charged out the room to get to Sam and Dean.

Bobby rushed into Dean's room with a hand on the hilt of his gun. He was prepared to bust some silver bullets into the thing stalking his boys, but now it was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't gotten any word from Mike yet on Rufus, but he couldn't worry about that now. Rufus was alive and breathing and that's all he knew, but the boys could be ganked any second by a demon lurking around. And it had taken over Brian's body. Just great.

He eyed Dean sadly, a tear in his chest as he saw the kid-like his son-lying there, eyes closed, tube in his mouth, helpless. Dean was counting on him to do his job, and here he was with a demon chasing their tails like a wolf and a rabbit. It wasn't fair with the FBI hellbent on putting the boys away. He could outdo a demon, but dealing with the United States government? Whole different story. He had to take down what he could manage first, and that was the Brian/demon thing.

Sam's room was on the floor below and he jumped into the elevator, his gun hidden in his coat. Bobby sped down the halls as fast as he could, earning a few reprimands from the nurses along the way. Something caught his eye at the end of the hall. It was a man who seemed a little shady wearing a blue scrub outfit, but he was limping and shuffling forward. Bobby immediately rushed faster, determined to get to Sam's room before the odd stranger could, but the man veered left right into Sammy's hospital room and closed the door.

Bobby halted, mouth open. He couldn't kill the son of a gun right here, it would put him in trouble with the FBI too! Plus, how was he to explain he killed a man that was already claimed dead and witnessed by dozens of people? He needed to get in there somehow and protect Sam, but with what? The demon would kill him right there. He had to create a big disturbance, somehow bring in many witnesses himself to stop the thing from getting to Sam. That meant he had to wait.

The demon extended a pale and shriveled hand forward, above Sam's chest. The hunter was still unconscious, so he was not aware of any of the events taking place around him. Bobby watched from behind the door, his eyes wide and heart screaming, but he had to wait still.

The demon plunged his hand into Sam's chest, in a ghostly form, his fist closing in around his heart. His limb entered the hunter's chest easily; black mist spilling from Sam's chest as his ghostly hand didn't leave a physical mark. Immediately, Sammy started to choke; his chest arched off the bed and a throaty cough gargled in his throat as he crunched his eyes in pain.

"Come on, come on," Bobby whispered under his breath, glaring at the heart monitor.

Finally, it beeped. Uncontrollably, the sounds buzzed through the room as Sam's heartbeat fluctuated randomly.

Bobby ran in front of Sam's door, and with all his might, shouted, "Help! Help, please! He's coding, nurse! Someone, help!"

Immediately, the Code Blue rang through the floor. Nurses leapt from their stations and carted a ventilation and defibrillator machine towards Sam's room.

Inside, Bobby could see the demon was standing over Sam's head, head whipping up at the sudden commotion. It pulled its hand out of Sam's chest, black smoke pouring around it, as the poor boy gasped and coughed for some fresh air and a rhythmic heartbeat. Bobby burst through the door just as the nurses with the carts plunged inside, the demon wearing Brian stoof back, it's scrub mask pulled high on its face.

Sam wasn't bleeding from the chest, there was no entry wound, the demon tried to voodoo its way in by making its limb enter his chest like some Star Wars "force" crap. Bobby had never seen that done before.

"Code blue, someone intubate!"

"Push one of epipen!"

"Lay him flat!"

"Charging pads…clear!"

The demon slunk away, its eyes gleaming with hate as its disrupted kill made it fume.

 _No matter. There were two Winchesters._ It watched as the nurses attempted to revive Sam whose heartbeat slowly steadied, _that meant Dean was ready for the kill._

Bobby followed it out the door as the demon shuffled down the hall to get to the other Winchester brother.

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	7. Chapter 7

Viktor got the call that Sam Winchester was coding. Dean Winchester was just admitted under critical care. And now there was a missing body in the morgue.

These boys just never made it easy.

His temper level was at its maximum and all he wanted was to see these boys wheeled into FBI HQ in Virginia. He didn't care even if they were in body bags at this point.

He briskly made it to Dean Winchester's room, with an uninvited visitor. It was that SWAT officer Mike.

"What are you doing here?" Henricksen made sure his voice was harsh.

Mike was standing by Dean's bed just as Viktor entered. There was a needle in his hand and he looked to the agent like he was doing something wrong. Viktor had seen that look _dozens_ of times by other criminals.

"You don't have authority to be here anymore, sir, you resigned from your duties," Henricksen circled him, "you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Um, sir, nothing, sir," Mike stuttered, still on guard by Dean's bed.

"Cut the crap, okay? I've had a long, hard week, and now one brother is dying, the other looks already dead," he gestured to Dean, "and I got a body missing in the morgue. And you know what? It's your buddy, the other officer Brian. The one you killed."

Mike stood speechless, sweat dripping down his neck.

"So, what are you doing in here?" the agent nodded to the needle, "Especially with that thing."

Mike's eyes flicked to the door, and he stumbled back. Terror was etched into his face as Viktor realized the officer wasn't even staring at him anymore, but something behind him. The SWAT officer backed into the table, making cups and objects spill to the floor. In his eyes, horror replaced human emotion and his mouth was open in gasping shock.

"Officer?" Viktor stepped forward, confused, "What's going on?"

"B-B-Brian?"

"What?"

Mike pointed one shaking finger behind Henricksen.

The agent turned around and was face to face with a tall, buff man in a blue scrub outfit. The guy's eyes were sunken in and purple-ringed, his skin was deathly pale, and he smelled of rotting meat. But his pupils were unmistakably black.

"What the-"

"Argh!" the thing in front of him launched an arm to his head.

Viktor felt a blow to his skull and he was out before he hit the floor.

"Brian?" Mike was still straight up against the far wall, cowering at the specter before him, "I-is that you?"

His dead partner glared at him through those black eyes.

"It's me, man...Mike."

" _You_ ," Brian's debilitated form croaked, " _you killed me._ "

"No, no-Brian, I didn't mean-"

" _You shot me in the head_ ," the thing took a step forward, but Mike was out of steps back.

This was what Rufus was talking about. Mike couldn't wrap his head around it but he knew, somewhere deep down, this wasn't his old partner. it wore him like a body suit, it was the most disgusting and disturbing thing he had ever seen in his life.

The officer stared down at the needle he jacked from a nurse's cart on the way, then back at Dean. He knew he might not have long left, the FBI agent was down for the count, and this might be the only way out. He plunged the contents of the needle into Dean's IV.

At the same time, Brian lunged forward, teeth bared.

Dean was softly buried in his black, subconscious world when a tugging started in the base of his skull. He tried to protest, fight it off, but it was persistent. It was annoying. Why would anyone try to pull him out of this lulling relief he had found himself in? The tugging grew more intense, more painful. He tried to fight it, but light started to fill his dark world.

Dean's green eyes batted open as he fought off the last of his sleep, the numbing reality around him fading away. Now, he was faced with true reality.

The pain hit him first. The white hot, numbing sensation took over his shoulder and he crashed into the bed, his eyes shut and a muffled yell escaping him. It came rushing back to him-all of it. What happened now? Where was he? Why was this pain killing him!?

A crash to his left made him snap his neck to the sound. Two men were fighting, he just realized. One was big and burly in a camouflage uniform, the other thinner and taller in a nurse's outfit. He tried to blink the bleariness from his eyes, but the pain was making his vision blurrier and the world whiter with the excruciating pain clinging onto his sore muscles.

"Dean, help!" the bigger, burlier one looked urgently at Dean, but he was still groggy and out of focus. Who was this man? Was he supposed to know him?

All he knew were those black eyes. It was an oddly comforting sight, because Dean knew what that meant at least. He had been fighting them since he was old enough to carry a gun or wield a knife. It was second nature to him, he and his brother fought these demons day and night their entire lives. Dean suppressed the pain, knew it would engulf him if he kept thinking about it.

The man trying to speak to him was distracted in getting Dean's attention, that he didn't see the hard punch coming to his temple and knocking him out cold.

The man dressed like a soldier dropped like a stone.

Dean shook his head, a cold sweat starting to form on his hairline as the weakness of his body was overwhelming. He wasn't strong enough to face a full-fledged demon in a SWAT officer meat suit for that matter. He couldn't even see straight. But he had to do the best he could, he always did. Dean treated this like one of his hunts.

All there was to his left was the hospital food tray and a damp towel. He held onto them for dear life, his only possible chances of escape.

"Come on, then, come on!" he shouted, his old flare starting to return. If he just took this thing down then he could return into that black subconsciousness he was so rudely ripped away from. A heap on the floor caught the hunter's eye and he noticed it was Viktor Henricksen sprawled there, a nasty blow to the head leaving a mark on his face.

" _Dean Winchester_ ," the demon hissed through the dead man's teeth. It spread open its rotten fangs into what Dean could only interpret as a smile, " _you have woken_."

"Not the ideal beauty sleep," he shrugged with bitter amusement, "but still enough to gank your ass."

" _Quick words for a dead man_ ," it snarled back at him, circling Dean.

"Look who's talking," Dean growled back, "you're the one wearing the corpse like a couture dress."

" _Enough_!" the yellow, bared teeth of Brian made Dean jump back, " _Time to die!_ "

"You first," his low, baritone voice was as hard as flint.

The demon lunged and Dean ducked. He slid across the hospital floor and into the heart monitors. They were going crazy, now that they were still attached to his body. The probes were registering all of his vitals. Usually, he was calm and collected in battle, but half dead, injured, in pain, and exhausted, a fast heart rate seemed like the way to go.

Brian's body stood up once more, brushing off the apple sauce that spilled onto its scrub outfit. Dean threw the towel in its direction; it hit the demon square in the face, and it backed up to the door. His hand flew up trying to fiddle with the doorknob, the tray the only protection his vulnerable body had. The demon clawed the rag off its face, growing more furious by the second until it smiled hungrily at the sight of the fallen hunter.

"Now, time for dinner! I thought I'd wait to save you for downstairs, but looks like your brother will suffice!" It cackled hideously.

Dean's heart clenched. Not Sammy.

He saw a knife tucked into Mike's boot, sprawled next to him. Dean clawed his way forward, but cried out as he extended the injured shoulder. Blood seeped through the bandage once more, the stitches tearing open _again._ That was getting old.

The demon saw what he was attempting and crouched to jump right at the hunter. Dean threw the hospital tray at Brian and it hit the demon square in the jaw, knocking it backwards. The older Winchester tore the knife from the SWAT officer's boot and held it close to his mouth as he mumbled a low Latin incantation. The demon immediately froze, hearing the effects of the powerful words.

"Noooo!" it sprang again, jaws open, and hands outstretched as it landed on Dean. It's rancid breath made him want to puke as the black eyes stared straight into his soul. Dean gripped the knife so hard, it made his palm bleed. He rammed it up, straight into the already dead corpse once more. The demon's obsidian eyes widened in horror, as the cursed knife tore through its black heart and damned it back to hell.

A red, burning flash erupted through the dead body and it fell on Dean's blood-soaked lap, dead.

Bobby leapt through Dean's hospital doors like an Olympic athlete. He burst through and scanned the disrupted room. The sheets were messed up, with Dean missing from them. Henricksen was crumpled on the floor, the table was flipped over, a hospital tray clattered against the tile, and Mike's body was near the far wall. Perpendicular to the doorway, Dean breathed heavily on the floor, a large body laying on top of him.

"Bobby," he panted, his pale and sweaty face exhausted.

"Dean," he surged forward and knelt next to him, "What happened?"

Dean looked down at the once again dead Brian on his lap, "He did."

"He was a demon," Bobby huffed as he dragged the body off Dean's lap, "almost hit your brother before you."

"Sammy?" he immediately perked up, "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine, maybe have some heart burn for the rest of his life, but the kid will survive."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed in relief, "Where are the nurses? Why didn't they come?"

"Demon knocked them out on the way, everyone on the second floor is stone cold," he shook his head, "that's why I took so long. I was hiding in the stairwell till he did his number. I'm sorry, boy."

Dean was too spent to speak, but he patted Bobby's arm roughly to know that he did what he had to.

"Listen, I'm getting you boys outta here now. Rufus is resting in the van, I'm gonna take you there now. Let's go," he helped Dean up from the floor, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. Dean was listless as Bobby settled him down in the wheelchair. Henricksen was left on the floor, and Bobby wheeled past him carefully. This was their chance while everyone was distracted.

"Bobby," Dean breathed, "what about Mike?"

Bobby glanced at the fallen SWAT officer. He thought about taking him along to the van, but realized the guy probably had enough with their little group activities, "I'll send a few nurses over to help him out. And the agent," he slightly tapped Viktor's shoe with his own, "now let's get you out of here. Keep your head low, don't make a sound."

Dean made sure he was as still and silent as a corpse as he rested in the wheelchair, his head back and eyes closed. He couldn't wait to get out of here and tap into Bobby's supply of morphine when they got back to his house to ease the burning pain erupting in his shoulder. He longed for that black escape the nurses gave him with some sedatives where there was no care or worry in the world. He missed that a lot.

He was jostled back to reality as the wheelchair bumped over the metal rail of the hospital entrance doorways, and Bobby grinned sweetly at the nurses looking at him questioningly. Bobby always taught him people wouldn't question you if you looked confident and acted like you knew what you were doing. He was a pro at this, disguising as FBI agents, sheriffs, inspectors, and a ton more for most of his life. This was natural for him.

The next thing he knew, they were rolling up to the black van parked at the very end of the lot. When Bobby opened the door, there was already a body resting in the front seat. It was Rufus with an ice pack and a bandage on his head. He gave a tired nod to Bobby and cracked a smile for Dean.

"Glad to see you back, boy," he said exhaustedly.

Dean nodded his head and smirked at seeing the seasoned hunter once again. It felt like home already.

"Listen, Rufus, I gotta pick up Sam. It's gonna be more tough, but keep an eye on Dean. That kid Mike woke him up a little early and his shoulder is gonna hurt a hell of a lot worse in about an hour. The medicine is starting to wear off, but once they do," he put a few syringes and bottles in Rufus' hand, "I nabbed these from the supply closet. Dean's going to need them."

Rufus nodded and held the medication tightly against his chest, "You can count on me, Bob. Now bring the kid inside, before someone thinks we're staging a kidnapping."

Bobby snorted a little and eased Dean up from the wheelchair. He was shaking with exhaustion and pain, and he felt lighter than usual. Dean slowly reclined in the back of the van, gripping his clothes Bobby threw at him. It would be nice to put on some pants instead of stay young, wild, and free in the hospital gown he was adorned in.

Bobby closed the door and rushed back inside to get Sam before anyone else could.

The next thing he realized, Bobby had just hijacked two guys from the hospital. So much for staying undercover. The trained hunter was a master in killing jinns, hunting ghosts, shooting vamps, but when it came down to real people? He was lost. He couldn't understand them anymore, at least with the supernatural, they didn't tend to deviate much. You hunt them, catch them, kill them. That's how it always was. But you couldn't exactly kill an FBI agent with an enchanted knife, could you? Bobby sprinted to Sam's hospital room. Thankfully, no agents were prepared to take him away just yet. He was lying down in bed, some new wires attached to his chest from the mini heart attack he just suffered from a dead SWAT officer's possessed cadaver whose hand entered Sam's chest. That sentence was probably the strangest he had ever thought of.

He went to the boy's side and examined him. Sam was worryingly pale, his red-ringed eyes a sign of exhaustion. The boy needed some proper nutrients, nothing some beef jerky and some beer couldn't fix. That's what the boys grew up on, not those healthy, gluten free cracker crap that those overprotective moms demanded. No, Sam and Dean grew up on stale bread and bitter coffee. That's what their bodies were trained to handle, not pump them full of vitamins their blood wasn't accustomed to.

"It's okay, boy, I'm gonna get you home."

No nurses were around yet, but they'd be coming in soon to check on Sammy any time since that last scare. And who knew when the FBI would come rolling in with a fuming Viktor and his cronies. His mind wandered to Mike, but he couldn't think about that kid yet. Not until his boys were out of danger.

Sam's bed was in the locked position, and he quickly kicked the lever for the release. He gripped the bed tightly and realized it would be odd if he just rolled it on out into the hall and down to the parking lot.

"Rufus," Bobby spoke urgently into the phone as he dialed his friend, "hey, pull the car round back. To the morgue."

He slapped the phone shut and continued.

"Sammy," he shook Sam's shoulder a little rough, "come on, you there?"

The poor boy was out like a light.

The medicine pumping through him had him completely conked out, and he knew Sam would be in hell with his leg pain if he woke him up. No chance of walking out on this one.

Bobby quickly pulled the bedsheet from under Sam's arms and draped it over his head and body. He looked like a person who just died. Good, that's what he was going for. Bobby made sure to move fast. Rufus was not the most trustworthy driver at the moment and he needed to get the three of them all patched up back at the house in Sioux Falls. And they were in New Mexico.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go," Bobby puffed as he started to wheel out the bed. He looked down at himself really quick. What was an FBI agent doing wheeling around a dead body around the hospital? He needed to blend better. Bobby spotted a soiled doctor's coat thrown in the trash bin near the door. He quickly fished it out and draped it over his shoulders, holding a few papers scattered on the table with what he hoped were some pain medicine prescriptions for the boys. Hell, after this ordeal, he was gonna need some too.

Bobby slipped out into the hall, looking to and fro for any malicious looking men or terse nurses. No one. He continued his path, praying he get to the elevator. Just 100 more feet. Sam didn't move an inch under the drape and he looked like a cadaver. Some family members lingering in the halls saw Bobby wheel away the man covered in a sheet and many looked forlorn and teary-eyed as he rolled past with Sam underneath.

"A few more feet, Sam, hang in there," Bobby grumbled under his breath, politely nodding at people as he passed.

"Excuse me," Bobby froze, "what's going on here?"

He turned around and tried to put on his best "don't mess with me" face, "Well, can't you see?" he narrowed his eyebrows, "This poor man has just passed and you dare to stop him on his way to salvation, miss?"

A young, cross nurse looked Bobby up and down as he responded. Her hands were crossed over her chest and she looked unhappy.

"Yeah, I can see that," she tutted, "but what's he doing roaming the halls in the open?"

"Excuse me?"

"People are staring," she growled and lowered her voice, "bodies go through the back, hospital policy. The board thinks it's a bad image if you're wheeling in corpses left and right through the halls when people are around. Remember?"

Bobby stuttered, caught off guard, "Why, yes, of course, but-"

"No," she cut him off, "I don't want to hear it. Take him the back way right now, or I'll report you. Don't do it again."

A small groan came from Sam under the cloth.

The nurse's eyes widened and her eyes flicked down. Her mouth hung upon as she froze in shock.

"Oh, oh!" Bobby held his stomach, thinking quick, "those chilean enchiladas in the cafeteria this afternoon, gosh! Just went right through me, not good for the acid reflux, you know," he chuckled awkwardly, "but don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll head through the back, which is where again…?

"Straight down to the left," her eyes were still wide, but she didn't dare question, "hurry up, get out of here."

She turned on her heels and fast-walked the other direction as quick as she could.

Bobby rolled his eyes and silently cursed Sam before pulling the cart towards the back.

Dean groaned and closed his eyes as the unbearable pain erupting in his shoulder made black dots appear in his vision. He felt nauseous and exhausted, all he wanted was to lay down in the front seat of his Impala and sleep for a week. But Sam wasn't there, and he wasn't leaving without his brother.

"Rufus," he choked out painfully, "where's the meds Bobby gave you?"

Rufus barely was able to wheel the car around the lot and park it haphazardly in front of the morgue.

"Yeah, boy," there was concern in his voice, "you sure you can't hold off a little longer?"

Dean tried to rough up his skirt and hold tight for a few more minutes, but he couldn't even breath with the flames biting at his shoulder. He endured hell, and this was slowly reminding him of the absolutely horrific experience. Dean needed some relief, something to block out the nightmares from trying to resurface.

"Rufus, I-I don't think I can," he panted, barely able to stifle his shaking muscles from jumping right out of the car now.

Rufus reluctantly passed down a pain killer and Dean took it eagerly. He looked at the pill in his hand like it was the best pie in the world. It was the only savior he had at the moment as he counted down Bobby's arrival.

He gulped it down and laid his head back against the plush headrest. He was still dressed in the hospital gown, too tired and weak to put on real clothes when he was going to flop down to sleep the minute Sammy was back in the car. Speaking of which, where were they?

Bobby pushed open the hospital doors into the morgue, nodding past the morgue assistant as he did so. Sam, off his IV drip, occasionally groaned and flinched as his pain registered into his subconscious mind. Bobby's heart tore and he pulled the sheet off Sam's face when no more living people were in their vicinity.

"Okay, bud," he patted Sam's good leg with his hand as he kept moving. They were almost to the car, not too far yet-

"Excuse me, sir," Bobby froze when he heard a muffled voice past the morgue doors. It was coming from the next room and it sounded agitated. He immediately recognized it: Viktor Henricksen.

The agent was talking to the morgue manager, that meant Bobby needed an escape right this second or they were toast. Sam flinched again and moved, groaning again in pain.

"Shut up, kid, shut up," Bobby looked around urgently for the morgue exit? Where the hell was it?!

"Do you mind if we check the back room?" Henricksen's voice sounded nearer to the door.

Bobby zeroed in on the white double doors across the room. He sprinted with Sam's gurney ahead as fast as a racehorse.

The morgue entrance doors opened and chief agent Viktor Henricksen stepped through with a few more men. He had a sizable bruise on his forehead and he was livid when Sam and Dean were nowhere to be found in their rooms. Even that SWAT officer Mike was missing too, probably escaped when something knocked Viktor upside the head.

This was ridiculous. He couldn't believe he lost Sam and Dean Winchester _again,_ and both of them were unconscious in their beds too! How could they have escaped?! Was it another trick? Was this plan mapped out from the beginning? Maybe they knew he and his agents were planning the raid at the docks and played along with the whole thing? Either way the boys were missing and he'd find them.

"Look here, sir," an agent called and he walked over, "there's blood on this examination table. It looks semi-fresh."

Viktor narrowed his eyes. He knew somehow this was related to the Winchester brothers.

"It's an empty drawer," he pointed out at the abnormal sight of the missing body in the metal container, "who's name was on it last?"

The agent looked at the tag and back up to his superior, "First name is Brian, sir."

The dead SWAT officer, Mike's old partner.

"Okay, guard all entrances and exits. Get some men to filter the hospital cameras. I need an APB on Sam and Dean Winchester and one Mike Myers, now. Move it!"

Agents sprinted out of the room, ready to listen to their boss's orders. Viktor remembered being shook awake by a confused nurse at Dean's trashed hospital room who was, conveniently, missing from it too. He clearly remembered Mike being there, but when he came to, the ex-SWAT officer was gone. The nurses were also wheeling away a gurney with a man covered in a sheet. Henricksen tried to connect the dots. If Brian was missing, and right before being knocked out, Mike had a horrified look on his face. It was like he knew who Viktor's assailant was. Could it be?

No. He quickly shut the idea down. There was no way he was buying into this Winchester demon, angel, hell, dead crap. Enough was enough, time for these boys to be put off the streets.

The distance sound of a heavy door closing echoed through the eerily silent morgue.

Henricksen cautiously made his way over, stealthy as a fox as he approached the noise he heard. He finally caught sight of the doors that read: Hospital Exit.

Someone was just here, someone was eavesdropping, someone just escaped.

Viktor burst through the doors like a rogue locomotive, gun ready in his hands. He just sent all of his back up away to perform other duties. He was solo on this one.

There was the sound of something rolling on the parking lot asphalt, something like shopping cart wheels, but not quite that.

Viktor followed the noise again, rounding the corner. He gasped, eyes wide as he saw a gurney being wheeled away by a man in a suit. Someone was laying down in the gurney, a sheet half pulled on the body. He immediately recognized the tough build, long hair, and sharp features of Sam Winchester.

"Hey!" he yelled, charging the duo, "Stop right there! FBI!"

The man in the suit turned around, eyes wide when he saw the rapidly approaching Henricksen. He started running with the gurney, shouting something indistinguishable from his distance. The man was closing the distance between himself and a big, black van. That was the getaway car. Viktor picked up his pace, sprinting to get to the fleeing men. The man in the suit slammed the back of the car as he got near, yelling to open the door. It clicked open and inside there was a pale and exhausted looking Dean Winchester, head poked out of the gap the door provided.

His eyes looked down at Sammy in relief, then at Bobby's urgency, then at Viktor Henricksen running like a bull in a stampede. His eyes widened and he shouted for Rufus to start the car. The engine roared as Dean climbed to the back and opened the trunk while Bobby folded the gurney legs and slid Sam inside as quick as possible. Dean caught the rails of the gurney and pulled Sam in the rest of the way, shouting in pain as his already burning shoulder felt like it was pouring acid.

"Dean Winchester!" Viktor roared, "Stop right there! Don't move!"

"Go, go, go!" he yelled back at Bobby who jumped into the front seat and slammed his foot on the gas pedal as the car accelerated in reverse. Viktor had to dive out of the way as the truck almost crushed him like an ant. He rolled against the asphalt, his suit tearing slightly as he shielded himself from the van that almost rammed him down.

He was so close! No, they wouldn't get away!

A civilian driving an old car was rolling down the parking lot and Viktor sprinted to him, flashing his ID. He commandeered the vehicle as the stranger stepped out, looking confused. Henricksen slammed the gas pedal as well and followed after the black van.

"Damn!" Bobby turned his head back, looking at the approaching car, "I just can't shake this guy off!"

Dean flopped back against the seat. Sam was safe in the car at least, but he could see pained lines etched into his face, even in his unconscious state. Sam was wrapped in a grey thermal blanket, buckled down to the gurney tightly. Dean held onto the railing as tight as he could, the last energy in his body focused on his brother's safe passage.

"Bobby, if you make it onto the highway, you can lose him! Quick!" Rufus advised as Bobby turned the wheel like a maniac. He was flying past cars in an effort to lose the advancing agent. Henricksen didn't give up though, he was right on their tail.

"There it is, Bob, there it is! The highway! Come on, faster!"

Dean was pushed to the back of his seat from the inertia of the accelerating car and Sam's gurney shifted slightly. He moved his head, but otherwise was undisturbed.

"No, no, no!" Henricksen shouted from his car as the black van he was chasing sped up and onto the highway entrance. Viktor knew the second the van made it in the entrance, it'd be lost in the sea of cars driving as well.

"Yes, Bobby, yes!" Rufus shouted, his ice pack in hand, "You got it!"

Henricksen honked the horn for a full 10 seconds as the black van perfectly molded into the hundreds of cars on the freeway. If he had a squad of police cars, then sure it would be easy to follow, but in this old, barely chugging vehicle, there was no way to keep up.

"Calling all units, escaped prisoners on the highway! Requesting all backup, prepare for a chase!"

But it was no use. Sam and Dean Winchester were already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to the incredible followers of this story! As usual, I don't own any Supernatural content, but sure do love to write about it! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you!**

Dean groaned as his shoulder muscle tensed. He felt his eyes flutter open, a warm sunlight beating down on him. The hunter lifted his sore, aching neck and looked up to see a familiar wooden ceiling. He smelled the sharp scent of coffee and whiskey nearby. Perfect, he would need a lot of that. Immediately, he flinched and lied back down. The plushy cushion underneath him made him sigh in relief as he relished in the feeling of not waking up in stiff hospital beds with FBI agents staring down at him. He actually felt like he slept, not forced into some chemical slumber with medication to dull his pain and keep him docile. At the moment, he would've stayed under for days to escape the unbearable pain his shoulder emitted, but now he hated the feeling of being so controlled. This was his life, and he'd live it as he damn well pleased. The couch was cooking softly from the pleasant sun, and he stretched, careful to mind his wounded shoulder. Dean tried to lift himself up, but felt immediately dizzy. He looked around him to gather his senses, realizing he was in a familiar haven. Across the room, he saw a couch occupied by the unfurled body of his brother. Sam was laying across from him, a blanket around him, an IV attached to his arm, and his leg elevated. His hair was ruffled, his a little fuller, his jaw not as gaunt, and his breathing deep and relaxed. Dean sighed and felt thankful for his brother to not be pained anymore.

His eyes drifted to the leg wound on Sam's thigh and he felt guilt for letting it happen in the first place. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he should've known it was a trap by Henricksen. That slick FBI agent was just doing his job, but this was a bold move. If Bobby and Rufus weren't there, then they'd either be dead or shipped off to prison.

And Mike. That guy was a saint, even if he was one of the men shooting. Dean felt for the guy, he really did. The poor officer was forced to resign, to kill his partner, to bear guilt, to be shamed by his team, to be plunged into the supernatural world, and to face his dead partner once more. That was a hell of a lot to take in. Dean was surprised the guy hadn't gone guano a while ago. That was the real miracle.

He scanned himself and saw he was on his own couch as well. There was an IV drip attached to him and he felt his shoulder tightly bandaged. He pulled the needle from his arm and attempted to sit up again. He made it to a half crouch-half sit when footsteps neared him. A glass of water was thrust in front of his face and he looked up blearily at Bobby's haggard face staring down at him. He took the glass and downed it in less than 15 seconds.

"Thanks," he handed the cup back to Bobby.

"You good?" Bobby raised a brow and looked at him questioningly.

Dean cleared his hoarse throat, "Yeah, yeah, I think so," he scrunched his eyes and held his head, "oh, man, what the heck happened out there? Last thing I remember, I was in the hospital room, and Brian was possessed, I think."

"That's all you can remember?" Bobby sounded concerned, "Nothing after that?"

"Was there something after that?" Dean was puzzled.

"Long story," the seasoned hunter huffed, "for another time."

"I'm not too eager to hear it."

"Feel blessed you can forget it," Bobby grumbled.

"How's Sammy?" Dean flashed a look at his younger brother across from him. He felt like he should do something, but he knew he was useless when it came to this.

"He'll recover," Bobby also looked over, smiling as he settled on Sam's appearance, "the kid's been out like a log since I brought you boys here. Hasn't woken, hasn't moved. A firing squad couldn't wake him up"

"Is that okay?" worry washed over Dean. That didn't sound too good to his ears.

"Oh, yeah," Bobby snorted, "but when he wakes up he'll be hopped up on painkillers."

"Sammy on drugs? Someone tape that for me," Dean laughed and cut short when he hissed at the pain in his shoulder.

"Time for some more meds," Bobby looked at the depleting IV bag, "few more minutes and I'll replace it."

"What is it?" Dean looked up.

"Boy, you sure do as a lot of questions," the hunter shook his head and rolled his eyes, "just some morphine, take the edge off."

Dean nodded and fell back down. He was still exhausted and relished in the safety he was in without FBI agents and crazy demons. Bobby's home was a safe haven for them.

"Rufus?"

"He's good, stayed here and cleaned up a bit then headed home to rest and get back in the game."

"Was it serious?"

"He's had worse, but might've lost a few brain cells," Bobby smirked, "he'll be fine, boy."

"Please, tell him thanks, Bobby, without you guys...we wouldn't be here now," Dean looked down, rubbing the bandage on his shoulder.

"I will, Dean," Bobby nodded and smiled, "don't you worry."

"How long we been here?"

"Bout 3 days, both of you been outta commission a while," Bobby shuffled his feet.

"Mike?" he felt the temperature of the room drop around him.

"Got a call. He's okay, left the state. On his own for a bit. Could you blame him?"

Dean huffed and shook his head, "That's the only sane thing to do I'd say. Is he okay?"

Bobby's gaze darkened, "Would anyone be okay after what happened to him? The poor guy lost everything, Dean, I doubt he'd want to see us for the rest of his life."

"Whatever life he has left," Dean shook his head and groaned, "I hate this part."

"There's more good than bad in it, boy," Bobby patted his back, "even though it don't seem like that at times. Trust me."

"He'd make a mighty fine hunter, that Mike," Dean sighed, "shame we're losing him."

"You can't win them all, Dean," Bobby huffed, "but I think he'll stay out of this life for a while. Left you boys a note," Bobby fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, "got it in the mail this morning."

Dean took it with a shaking hand from his burning shoulder and shoved it in his pocket for later.

Bobby turned back to Dean, "you boys rest here until things cool down. Henricksen has been on a foxhunt, your faces plastered on every news channel in the country."

"Same old, same old."

"I'm serious, Dean, you boys gotta be careful," Bobby's tone was hard.

Dean tossed a glance at his brother peacefully lying there a few feet away. He was grateful Sam was safe, he was the only person he had in this life other than Bobby. If he ever lost Sam again...he couldn't imagine it.

"I know, Bobby, I know," Dean sighed, "we're trying."

"Try harder," Bobby patted his good shoulder roughly and turned his heel, "get some more rest. There's coffee and food when you wake up again."

Dean was grateful for the rest he could take. He couldn't think about demons, about Henricksen, about Mike or Brian, or anything. He just pulled up the blanket around him, let the painkillers do their job, felt relaxed with his brother there, and let himself fall asleep once again.

 **The End.**


	9. Bonus

**I know I ended the story, but I just couldn't leave this hanging :) this is a bonus chapter, hope you all enjoy!**

Dean and Sam,

I appreciate your help, but I'm on my own for now. It was a hell of a ride at the hospital, and I'm still having some trouble...understanding. Look, you boys were mighty fine fellas and I don't regret helping you. I lost my job, my partner, and part of my sanity in the last week, but believe me when I tell you that it was worth it to get you boys safe. The moment I saw you guys above those docks, it was something I had never seen before. For criminals, you boys sure do love each other and I can appreciate that. I'm moving for a while now, hit the road, stay to myself, but I'm going to try my best to forget. Nothing personal to you boys, but it's been a hell of a long week, and I can't wait to let it go. There's only one thing I can hope to ask from both of you: do not contact me. I think I took about as much as I can handle, and even though I'm not too sure of what really went down, I can tell you it's definitely not my cup of tea. Brian...I don't know what happened to him...but that thing was inside him, and it'll haunt me for the rest of my life. Please leave me be, don't reach out, don't go looking for me, because I'm fine. Maybe I'll settle down, maybe I'll meet a girl, maybe I'll jump back into the army life with my brothers, but until then take care of yourselves. Stay safe, watch out for one another, and don't make me get down there and bust your asses out of a hospital again.

In closing, I hope both of you, along with Rufus and Bobby, stay well. Thank you for the...enlightening oppprtunity.

Mike


End file.
